SavannahMonroewasscrewed.Not in the literal sense, unfortunately. But in the utterly done for, completely gone, absolutely ruined by Chase Montgomery sense.
And judging by Mallory’s reaction the moment they pulled up to his house, she wasn’t far behind.
They barely made it up the porch steps before Mallory let out a long, slow whistle, tilting her head back to take it all in. “Okay, this man is officially trying to ruin my standards. This is gorgeous.”
Savannah hadn’t taken the time to truly appreciate it before, but now, standing beside her best friend, she saw it through fresh eyes. The house was effortlessly masculine—coastal yet strong, with deep blue siding, crisp honey trim, and windows glowing with soft golden light. The porch stretched wide, lined with weathered rocking chairs that seemed to whisper of slow mornings and late-night conversations.
Mallory elbowed her. “Tell me this man doesn’t own candles. If he does, I’m dead. I will die on this doorstep.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I am aware,” Mallory said solemnly, “but that doesn’t answer my question.”
Before Savannah could respond, the front door swung open.
And there he was.
Chase stood barefoot in the doorway, wearing dark jeans and a fitted navy Henley that clung in all the right places. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it while cooking, and the sight of him sent a fresh wave of warmth rolling through Savannah’s stomach.
“Ladies,” he drawled, his deep voice laced with amusement as his gaze locked onto Savannah’s with a slow-burning intensity that made her breath catch.
Mallory cleared her throat. “Hey, Chase. Do you own candles?”
Chase blinked, taken aback. “Uh—yeah?”
Mallory groaned, pressing a hand to her chest. “I knew it. You’re killing me.”
Savannah laughed as Chase smirked, stepping aside. “Come on in. Nate’s already raiding my whiskey stash.”
They followed him inside, and the moment Mallory stepped through the door, she gasped so loudly Savannah thought she might need medical attention.
“Oh. My. God.”
Savannah turned, watching as Mallory spun in a slow circle, eyes wide in awe.
“Savy, look at this place,” she breathed. “This is some ripped-out-of-a-magazine, dream-home shit. What the hell?”
And honestly? Mallory wasn’t wrong.
Savannah had only really seen the kitchen before, but now, standing in the open living room, it was like stepping into something unreal. The walls were a warm, muted gray, complemented by navy and deep walnut wood. A massive stone fireplace stretched from floor to ceiling, its hearth flickering with soft light. A plush, oversized sectional faced it—the kind of couch that invited sinking in for hours. Across the room, glass doors opened onto a patio where string lights twinkled like stars against the night.
Mallory turned to Chase, pointing an accusing finger. “How dare you.”
Chase lifted an amused brow. “How dare I what?”
“Be this good-looking and have impeccable taste? It’s infuriating.” She spun on Savannah. “You’ve never been in this house?”
Savannah shook her head, still a little overwhelmed.
Mallory placed a hand on her hip. “Montgomery. Tour. Now.”
Chase chuckled, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Look around.”
Savannah hesitated. “You sure?”
His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Yeah. Go on, Monroe.”
That was all Mallory needed to hear before she practically dragged Savannah down the hallway, flinging doors open with reckless enthusiasm.
