Savannah hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Mallory’s smirk widened. “Then that’s definitely where we’re going.”
Savannah’s heart pounded as she turned onto the road leading toward the tavern. Toward the inevitable.
Toward him.
4
Never, Yet
Meanwhile,onthebacksideof Wrightsville, where the sound met the shore in a quiet, undisturbed embrace, Chase Montgomery stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him like a ghost of heat. He raked a towel over his damp hair, watching his own reflection in the fogged-up mirror. His face, still sharp and defined, carried the echoes of a man who had lived a little too recklessly in his younger years—late nights, whiskey-soaked promises, and a reputation that had made him both infamous and irresistible.
But tonight wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about chasing another Friday night thrill, another meaningless rendezvous that left his sheets warm but his bed feeling colder than ever by morning. No, the infamous Friday Night Fling Circuit had lost its appeal. The start of tourist season meant the bars were about to be filled with out-of-towners looking for a Wrightsville Beach adventure—just as they always were.
And yet, for once, Chase wasn’t interested.
Instead, he planned to head into town early, before the Low-Tide Tavern filled up with summer visitors who wanted nothing more than to hear a Southern drawl whisper something tempting in their ears. He wanted a drink, a little time to breathe before the night took on a life of its own.
He reached for his watch, clasping it around his wrist just as the sound of tires crunching over the gravel driveway reached his ears. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Right on time.
Jaxon Stone.
The two had met back when Chase was just a kid, before his family had picked up and moved to Wrightsville when he was sixteen. Jaxon had been one of the few friendships that survived the distance, the years, the inevitable shifts that came with growing up. While Chase had built his empire in coastal consulting, Jaxon had carved out a different kind of success—partner at one of the largestfinancial firms in the Southeast, a man who handled wealth like an artist worked a canvas.
Now, he lived in Oak Island, close enough that their occasional meetups had turned into something more regular. And though they were in entirely different industries, Jaxon was also Chase’s financial advisor—the one person he trusted to keep his assets in order, his investments thriving.
A sharp knock echoed through the house just before the front door swung open.
“Why would you just walk in?”
The exasperated voice came from behind Jaxon, a playful huff of frustration that made Chase chuckle before he even stepped into the living room.
Sara.
Jaxon’s wife had a way of reigning him in, balancing out his easygoing, sometimes oblivious demeanor. She was fierce in the best way, the kind of woman who could run an entire event without breaking a sweat and still manage to make you feel like you were the most important person in the room. Owning a catering business meant she was often too busy to join them on their nights out, but when she did, she made her presence known.
Jaxon held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I’ve been coming here for years. If he was worried about it, he’d lock the damn door.”
Sara rolled her eyes, stepping into the house behind him. “One day, Chase is going to have some poor girl in here, and you’re going to walk in on something youdefinitelydon’t want to see.”
Chase grinned, leaning against the counter. “Not tonight. I’m keeping things simple.”
Jaxon raised a brow. “Simple? That’s new for you.”
Chase shrugged, grabbing a beer from the fridge and tossing one to Jaxon. “Besides, you know I don't bring them here anyway.”
Sara smirked, crossing her arms. “So, no charming some unsuspecting tourist out of her sundress tonight?”
Chase chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Not in the mood.”
Jaxon shook his head. “Well, that’s a first.”
Sara narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait… is this about someone specific?”
Chase didn’t flinch, but he could feel the weight of Sara’s gaze on him. If anyone could read through his bullshit, it was her.
“Not everything is about a woman, Sara.”
