She tilted her head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Jaxon smirked and leaned against the counter. “Well, now I have to know. But first, we’re grabbing dinner before drinks.”
Chase arched a brow. “Since when do we do dinner first?”
“Since we have a sitter and my wife is actually free for once,” Jaxon said, throwing an arm around Sara. “And you’re buying, since you never eat actual meals unless someone forces you to.”
Chase scoffed but didn’t argue. “Fine, but we’re not going anywhere fancy.”
Sara clapped her hands together. “Perfect, because I want some damn good seafood.”
They headed out together, piling into Chase’s truck, the familiarity of their friendship settling in like an old, comfortable habit. The drive to the restaurant was filled with easy conversation, the kind that didn’t require effort, the kind Chase appreciated more than he let on.
As they pulled into the parking lot, Sara glanced out the window, her eyes scanning the rustic exterior of the Low-Tide Tavern. "This place looks a lot like Tides Rising back in Oak Island," she mused. "Jaxon and I love that place. Feels like home every time we walk in."
Jaxon smirked, nudging her playfully. "That’s because you charm the bartender, Mike into giving us extra hush puppies every time."
Sara shrugged with a grin. "What can I say? People like me."
Chase chuckled, shaking his head as they stepped inside.
By the time they slid into a booth at the seafood joint just off the marina, Chase found himself watching them—Jaxon and Sara—without meaning to. The way she leaned into him, how he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. The way Jaxon rested a hand on her thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Chase took a sip of his whiskey, his gaze flicking away. He didn’t do that. He didn’t bring women to dinner, didn’t have anyone to lean into, didn’t have someone who made him feel like home wasn’t just a place but a person.
Sara caught him staring, her expression softening. “You ever think about it?”
Chase raised a brow. “Think about what?”
She gestured between her and Jaxon. “This. A real thing. Something steady.”
Jaxon smirked. “Be careful, man. She’s matchmaking again.”
Chase chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t do this,” he admitted, gesturing to their easy affection. “Never have.”
Sara studied him for a moment before she smiled knowingly. “Never yet.”
Chase didn’t answer. Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t so sure.
After a moment of silence, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "You know, I've never really said this out loud before... but I think I’ve always wanted what you two have. Not the wild nights or the endless options—just someone who gets me. Someone to come home to."
Sara leaned in, her expression soft but knowing. "And you think that’s not possible for you?"
Chase hesitated. "I don’t know. Maybe I’ve played this role for so long that I don’t even know how to be something else."
Sara shook her head with a small smile. "You and Jaxon are more alike than you think. He used to say the same thing before we got together. Thought he wasn’t built for all of this. Turns out, he was wrong." She squeezed Jaxon's hand under the table before looking back at Chase. "Maybe you're wrong, too."
Chase let her words settle, staring into his glass as if it held the answers he wasn’t ready to face. Because deep down, he knew—she might just be right.
He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. "Damnit Jaxon, I know you can't get anything by this woman. If she can read me and see through my bullshit, I can only imagine how it is with you."
5
Where It Began
TheLow-TideTavernsatjust off the water, the kind of place that smelled like salt, beer, and fried food. A place where the wooden floors creaked under years of footsteps and spilled whiskey. It was the perfect blend of local grit and coastal charm, where the regulars had their seats claimed before sundown, and the tourists got just drunk enough to believe they belonged.
As Savannah and Mallory pulled into the gravel parking lot, the warm, sticky air of Wrightsville wrapped around them like an old memory. The neon sign flickers against the twilight sky, casting a dull glow over the steady hum of music and laughter spilling from inside. The place was packed. It always was this time of year.
