“This place is incredible,” Mallory said, spinning in a slow circle as she took it all in. “I can’t believe you stayed away this long.”
Savannah forced a small smile. “Yeah, well… life happened.”
Mallory didn’t press, which she appreciated. Instead, her friend stretched her arms above her head and grinned. “Alright, here’s the plan. We drop our bags, open a bottle of wine, and then go find some trouble.”
Savannah shot her a look. “Define ‘trouble.’”
Mallory wiggled her brows. “Oh, you know. A little mischief, a little dancing, maybe a little harmless flirting with attractive strangers.”
Savannah snorted. “You do realize we’re not twenty-one anymore, right?”
Mallory waved a hand. “Speak for yourself. I fully intend to make the most of this trip. And you, my dear, are going to have fun, whether you like it or not.”
Savannah wanted to argue, but part of her knew Mallory wouldn’t let her. And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want to fight it this time.
She wondered, just for a fleeting second, if he was still around. But that was ridiculous. After all, they had been teenagers, caught up in the thrill of summer and possibility. Whatever had existed between them—if anything had truly existed at all—was long gone.
What she didn’t know was that some things never really fade. And Wrightsville Beach had a way of pulling people back together—whether they were ready for it or not.
3
Unwritten Past
AfterSavannahandMallorygot settled in, unpacked their bags, and changed into something more fitting for the warm coastal air, they decided to take a drive through town. Mallory was eager to explore, taking in the charm of Wrightsville Beach for the first time, while Savannah—well, she wouldn’t admit to wanting to see what, or maybe who, was still here.
The streets felt both familiar and foreign as she navigated them. The same winding roads, the same towering oak trees lining the outskirts of town, their sprawling branches forming a canopy overhead, casting shifting shadows against the pavement. The salty breeze drifted in through the open windows, bringing with it the unmistakable scents of fried seafood, warm boardwalk planks, and the faintest trace of suntan lotion lingering in the air.
Storefronts had changed. Some bore fresh coats of paint, while others had been replaced entirely, but the essence of Wrightsville Beach remained the same—unchanged, unwavering, just as she had left it.
She slowed the car as they approached the pier, a place that had once been a staple of her summers. The ice cream shop on the corner still had its bright red awning, though the sign now looked newer, shinier. The bait shop next door had undergone a facelift, its once-faded exterior now crisp and well-maintained, yet the wooden dock that stretched into the water remained untouched—weathered, sturdy, a constant in a town that had evolved in pieces.
She could still remember the late nights spent there, wrapped up in someone’s hoodie, toes dipping into the cool water, laughter carried away by the wind. The scent of bonfires and salt, the sound of distant music playing from a car stereo, and the unmistakable pull of something that had once felt bigger than anything else in the world.
Then, as they turned the corner, something else caught her attention.
A name.
A sign she hadn’t expected to see.
Montgomery & Associates
Consulting Services
Her fingers instinctively tightened around the steering wheel as she eased the car to a stop in front of the building. It was an old Southern-style home, the kind that had been repurposed for business without sacrificing its charm. A white wraparound porch stretched across the front, supported by thick columns that looked as if they had witnessed decades of whispered conversations and quiet confessions. The windows glowed softly from the inside, warm and inviting, and the front yard was landscaped with such precision that it was clear—this was not temporary. This was rooted. Permanent.
Her stomach twisted.
It couldn’t be his.
It couldn’t be the same Chase Montgomery she had known—the one who had spent his nights charming every girl in town, the one who had been as wild and unpredictable as the ocean itself.
“Holy shit.”
Mallory’s voice cut through the quiet, snapping Savannah out of her trance.
She turned to find her friend staring at the sign, wide-eyed.
“That’s his, isn’t it?” Mallory asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
