Her fingers curled into the fabric of her jeans, grounding herself in the reality of this moment, her pulse roaring in her ears as she met his gaze. Was this real? Could she have this again?
"Did you sell the house?" Her voice came out softer than she expected, barely audible over the thudding of her own heart.
Chase’s lips quirked, slow and knowing, the kind of smile that had always made her stomach flip. "No."
She nodded, like she was working through something in her head, her heart knocking against her ribs, frantic and wild. "And you—" She exhaled, licking her lips, nerves twisting inside her. "You plan on keeping it?"
A shadow of a smile ghosted over his lips. "You tell me."
Her breath hitched. Because she had seen them. She’s seen the life he built around her absence—the pieces of her that still lived in that house, in the walls, in the spaces where she once belonged.
"You built a library in the house?" she asked, her voice barely more than awhisper. "Why?"
Chase’s expression softened, his voice steady, unwavering. "Because books are your love language." His eyes locked onto hers, no hesitation, no doubt. "And, well, you’re mine."
Savannah’s breath fluttered. The weight of those words, so simple yet so devastating, shattered through her like a storm breaking against the shore. He had remembered. Even after everything. Even after she had left, after she had run, he had built something for her—something he should have had no reason to believe she would ever see. It should have made her feel guilty. But it didn’t. It just made her feel like she had one last chance to make this right.
She took a slow, measured breath, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break her ribs. And then, finally—she made the choice.
Savannah set her glass down on the bar, pushed up from her stool, and took a single step forward—closer, close enough that Chase had to tilt his chin down to look at her, close enough that she could see the flicker of something raw and reverent in his eyes.
The smile faded from his lips, his throat working as he swallowed, his fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to reach for her.
"Savy—" He said softly.
She lifted a hand, pressing it against his chest, feeling the steady thud-thud-thud of his heart beneath her palm. His breath stilled, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope.
"Take me home," she whispered.
Chase froze. Like he needed to process it, to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. Like he needed to be sure this wasn’t another dream he’d wake up from, aching and empty. And then—slowly, carefully—his hand covered hers, holding it there, holding her there.
"You sure?" he asked, his voice rougher now, quieter, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile moment they had just stepped into.
Savannah nodded, eyes shining. "I’m sure."
Chase exhaled. And she felt it.
The tension. The relief. The weight of every moment they had spent apart shattered under the choice she had just made.
A slow, beautiful smile spread across his lips, full of something deep, something unshakable. And Savannah—she couldn’t wait any longer.
She surged forward before she could talk herself out of it, grabbing the frontof his shirt, closing the space between them, and pressing her lips to his.
Chase inhaled sharply, like he hadn’t expected it—like for all his confidence, for all the ways he had been three steps ahead of her tonight, he hadn’t seen this coming. But then—then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, his grip firm, like he had been waiting for this moment since the second she walked away a year ago.
The world faded. The noise of the bar disappeared. The hum of conversation, the music, the laughter—none of it mattered. It was just them. Just Chase and Savannah and the ache of a year lost, colliding into a kiss that felt like a beginning and an ending all at once. He kissed her like he was memorizing her again. Like he had spent every night missing the way she fit against him, the way she used to pull him closer just like this, like she never wanted to let go.
Her hands slid up, fingers tangling into the soft fabric of his shirt, gripping like she was afraid this wasn’t real.
But Chase—he wouldn’t let her doubt it. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up her back, his other cupping the side of her face, tilting her just the way he knew she liked.
Savannah let out the smallest gasp, and he felt it, because Chase groaned, tightening his grip, erasing the space between them completely.
The moment stretched—heady. Electric. Charged with everything they hadn’t said, everything they had been too afraid to admit. And then, finally—she pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against his, her fingers still curled in his shirt.
Chase was breathing just as hard as she was, his eyes dark and searching, like he was waiting—hoping—this wasn’t just a moment.
Savannah let out a breathless, shaky laugh. "Okay."
