At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
But it didn’t feel temporary when Chase gripped her waist and pulled her into his lap, his arms locking around her as his forehead pressed against hers.
It didn’t feel temporary when he kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
It didn’t feel temporary when her fingers shook against his skin, her body pleading with him to hold her together when she was already falling apart.
It didn’t feel temporary at all.
And that was the most terrifying part of all.
Because three days weren’t enough.
Three lifetimes wouldn’t be enough.
But time didn’t care.
Time never cared.
And in three days, time would rip them apart.
Later that night, they stayed on the dock longer than usual.The wine was gone, but neither of them wanted to move. The evening air was cool against their skin, the gentle sway of the water beneath them the only sound, but it wasn’t silence. It was the space between words, the space where everything they couldn’t say hung heavy in the night.
Savannah was stretched out on her back, her head resting in Chase’s lap as he absently ran his fingers through her hair. His touch was steady, grounding, like it was the only thing keeping the world from spinning too fast. The sky above them was an infinite canvas, a sea of stars stretching farther than either of them could see. It felt like it would never end, just like this moment—the perfect stillness of time, just before it slipped away.
She broke the quiet with a question, her voice soft and laced with a vulnerability that she could no longer hide. "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"
Chase let out a low breath, his fingers stilling in her hair for a moment as he considered the weight of the question. "I don’t know," he said, his voice rough, as though it hadn’t been something he’d thought about in a long time. "I used to think I did. Used to think I’d be running the company, living alone in some fancy house by the water, doing whatever the hell I wanted."
Savannah turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting up to meet his. She saw the quiet ache in his eyes, the uncertainty that had only just begun to surface. "And now?" she asked, her heart beating faster, feeling the shift in the air.
His fingers stilled in her hair, the space between them filled with something unspoken. He didn’t look away from her, his gaze unwavering. "Now," he said, voice steady but raw, "I can’t picture any of it without you in it."
Her heart stuttered. The words hit her harder than she expected, crashing through the walls she had carefully built around herself.
Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come out—not the ones she needed to say, not the ones that were suddenly too real to voice. She could feel the weight of the moment settling between them, like the stars above had suddenly grown too close.
"Do you mean that?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion she wasn’t sure she could control.
Chase’s gaze never wavered, steady, unwavering, as though the truth was written on his face, in every line of his expression. "Yeah. I do."
The words seemed to hang in the air, wrapped in the quiet of the night. Savannah’s chest ached, and she lifted a hand, brushing her fingers along his jaw. The touch was slow, deliberate, as though she was memorizing every inch of him,committing the feel of his skin, the roughness of his stubble, to memory. She wanted to capture him like this—under the soft glow of the moon, when the world felt small and the distance between them felt nonexistent.
"What about you?" Chase asked, his voice softer now, more careful. It was the sound of someone opening up, someone testing the waters to see how much of themselves they could expose. "What do you want?"
Savannah exhaled slowly, the weight of the question pressing down on her. It wasn’t something she’d ever really allowed herself to think about, not like this. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the cool breeze sweep over her skin before answering.
"I used to think I wanted to move to a big city," she admitted, her fingers trailing lightly down his forearm, the sensation of his warmth seeping into her. "To have a high-rise apartment, a busy career, a life full of excitement."
Chase’s brows furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to read the words between hers. "And now?"
Her fingers trailed down to his hand, where she rested them, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The weight of his hand, the simple warmth of his skin against hers, felt like an anchor, holding her steady when the ground beneath her feet felt like it was shifting.
"Now," she said, her voice soft but sure, "I think—I just want someone to come home to."
The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need. The vulnerability in the space between them was all they needed to understand. Chase didn’t speak, but his grip on her hand tightened, his fingers closing around hers like a promise, like a vow, like something real.
In that moment, Savannah knew. She knew, with a certainty that shook her to her core, that this—him—was her home. That the place she was meant to be wasn’t some city or fancy apartment or career. It wasn’t the life she had thought she wanted. It was right here, in the space between them, under the stars, with Chase’s hand in hers.
