Chase blinked. "Okay?"
Savannah nodded, her smile breaking wide—full of certainty, full of something new, full of something finally right. "Take me home, Montgomery."
Chase let out a slow, almost disbelieving exhale. His thumb brushed against her jaw, the touch featherlight, reverent.
And then, softly, his voice a whisper meant just for her, "Home isn’t a place, Savannah. It’s in the way you laugh, the way you dream, the way you love. It’s every moment we’ve ever had and every one still waiting for us."
His lips ghosted over her forehead, the softest press of warmth, a kiss full of something deeper than words could ever say—
"It's—The Echoes of Us."
Epilogue
5 Years Later
Itoldyouthisstory.
I told you that love is messy. That it’s raw, painful—the kind of thing that buries itself deep inside you and refuses to let go. That it will break you, reshape you, and leave you standing in the wreckage of who you used to be, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to put yourself back together again.
And I meant every damn word.
Because love is all of those things.
But what I didn’t tell you—what I couldn’t tell you back then—was that love is also the thing that heals you.
It lingers. It seeps into your breath, into your bones, into the quiet spaces between your ribs that no one else has ever touched.
It stays.
Even when you try to forget. Even when you tell yourself you’ve let it go. Even when you run. Because love, real love, is never something you just walk away from.
And five years ago, I finally stopped trying.
It’s been five years since I made that drive to Asheville.
Five years since I walked into The Hollow and saw her standing there, looking at me like I was both the past she couldn’t escape and the future she wasn’t sure she was allowed to have.
Five years since my world tilted on its axis, and I knew—right then, right there—that this was it. That this was us.
Did I know she was coming? No.
But God, I hoped.
I hoped so hard it hurt. I hoped with every damn breath in my body. I told myself that if what we had was real—if she really felt what I felt—then she’d show up.
And if she did? I’d never let her go again.
Mallory still calls– Still shows up unannounced. She still drinks my whiskey like she owns the place, kicks her feet up on my coffee table, and inserts herself into my life with that same shameless confidence she’s always had.
And yes–She’s still a pain in my ass.
But honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She claims she knew all along that Savannah and I would find our way back to each other. Says it with a knowing smirk and a shrug, like she orchestrated the whole thing. And maybe she did, in her own way.
Not that I’ll ever admit that to her.
And the house?
