Then, he stepped out.
The sand was cool beneath his boots as he walked, past the marram grass swaying in the breeze, past the old wooden fence that had long since lost its battle with the salty air. He followed the familiar path until he reached —The Point—where the jetties met the open water, where the beach broke apart to reveal the wide stretch of inlet, a gateway for boats to return home.
But for Chase, this was home.
This was the place that had always been his beacon.
The place he had always come when he needed to clear his head.
The Point had once been the place where the best nights happened.
Long before responsibilities, before expectations—before everything got complicated.
Back then, summer nights belonged to the locals. They’d start bonfires, drinkcheap beer, tell stories that would only make sense in the haze of youth.
Chase could still see it.
Trevor leaning against a driftwood log, a beer dangling from his fingers, laughing at something that wasn’t that funny. Jaxon, one of the few summers he had made it down, shaking his head at them both, the firelight catching in his grin.
And Chase?
Chase had been doing what he always did.
Flirting with a tourist, giving her just enough charm to make her think she was special, but never enough to make her believe she was staying.
Then, everything shifted.
Because that was the night he saw her.
Savannah Monroe, walking down the dunes like she belonged to them.
She hadn’t been trying to get his attention. She hadn’t even noticed him at first. But Chase?
Chase had felt everything stop.
The fire, the music, the people—it all blurred.
Because Savannah had stepped into his world, and nothing had been the same since.
And now?
Now, years later, he was standing in the exact same place.
And everything was different.
Because she wasn’t just some girl from his past.
She was the only person who had ever made him feel like staying.
Chase exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as he took a few steps forward, past the weight of old memories, past the ghost of who he used to be. He sat down on a driftwood log, his boots digging into the damp sand as he exhaled sharply. His body felt tense, restless, but his mind was worse.
Because he had let himself get too caught up, too comfortable, too convinced that they had time.
They didn’t.
Savannah was leaving in eight days.
Eight.
