“What now?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“We’re going out tonight,” Mallory announced before Savannah could even open her mouth.
Chase arched a brow. “We are?”
Savannah exhaled, giving him an amused look. “Apparently.”
Mallory waved a hand. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t want to.”
Chase glanced at Savannah before sighing. “Where?”
“Low-Tide,” Mallory said, beaming.
Chase narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was already regretting his decision to come downstairs. “Of course.”
Savannah laughed. “It’ll be fun. Maybe you can drag Nate along?”
Chase ran a hand over his jaw, thinking. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Savannah stood, stretching. “And I’ll make sure Chase actually follows through.”
Chase smirked. “You doubt me?”
Savannah smiled, stepping close enough to press her fingers lightly against his chest. “Not at all.”
Mallory made a gagging sound. “Oh my God. I swear, if you two start making heart eyes at each other, I’m leaving.”
Chase chuckled, stepping back. “Wouldn’t want that.”
Mallory shot him a look, grabbing her coffee before standing. “Okay, I’ll see you two lovebirds later.” She made her way to the door, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder.
“And Chase?”
He looked up, expectant.
Mallory grinned. “Wear something tight.”
Then, she was gone.
Savannah shook her head as she shut the door, turning back to Chase, who just sighed.
“This is your fault,” he muttered.
Savannah smirked, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “You love it.”
He just sighed again, but the small smile on his lips said otherwise.
31
Palmetto Lies
TheLow-TideTavernwasin full swing—laughter, live music, and the scent of fried seafood mixing with the salt air drifting in through the open patio doors. The glow of neon beer signs flickered softly against the dark wood paneling, and the hum of conversation filled the space, weaving between the chords of the band playing in the corner.
At their booth, the four of them were comfortably tucked in—Savannah and Chase on one side, Nate and Mallory on the other.
It had started as casual seating, but at some point—somewhere between their first drinks and the effortless conversation—Savannah had ended up pressed against Chase’s side, his thigh warm and firm against hers, his arm stretched casually along the back of the booth.
And she didn’t mind.
