Chapter 8 Familiar Eyes
Familiar Eyes
Chase was mid-bite, his fork hovering just inches from his mouth when the trio walked by.
It wasn’t unusual for him to be half-distracted while eating—after all, the Low-Tide Tavern was as much a place for people-watching as it was for good food and cold beer.
But something about this particular moment made his body tense, his senses heighten like a fucking hunter in the wild.
Two women, led by the hostess, strolled past his table, their laughter soft and easy, like the sound of waves rolling in at low tide. He didn’t even realize he was watching them so intently until—
“You good, man?” Jaxon’s voice pulled him back to the present.
Chase blinked, forcing himself to focus, but it was too late. His attention was already hooked.
The women settled into a table on the patio, just within his periphery. He tore his gaze away, but his ears stayed tuned to the background noise, his subconscious catching every note of their conversation without meaning to.
A few minutes passed. He forced himself to engage with Jaxon and Sara, to focus on his food, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t let up. Then, movement. One of the women—tall, blonde, confident as hell—rose from her chair and headed toward the bar.
Chase wasn’t watching her. Not really. He was just… aware.
Until she called out. “Savy, what do you want?”
He froze.
The fork in his hand clattered against the plate, his grip loosening as his mind short-circuited. He had only ever known one person called Savy.
His heart pounded. His ocean-blue eyes immediately flicked up, scanning the restaurant with military precision, sweeping over tables, chairs, groups of tourists, trying to follow the path of the blonde’s voice, trying to pinpoint exactly who she had been shouting at.
But there were too many people. Too much movement. His pulse was a fucking drumline in his ears, drowning out the rest of the noise in the restaurant.
No. No fucking way.
He leaned forward, trying to look past a cluster of customers, but all he could make out were bits and pieces—shoulders, arms, glimpses of movement.
His gut twisted with something between hope and panic.
It had been years. She was hours away. She had built a life somewhere else. There was no way she was here.
And then, the blonde at the bar turned, her gaze catching his.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips as she lifted her hand in a casual wave. Chase tensed. His fingers curled into his palms.
She knew who he was.
He barely managed to nod back, his face an unreadable mask, but his insides were a damn hurricane. She grabbed her drinks, spun on her heel, and strode back toward her table.
Chase sat frozen as he watched her return, watched her lean in close, and whisper something to the brunette sitting across from her. And then—
Savannah.
His chest squeezed so tight he swore he forgot how to breathe.
She turned in her seat, following the blonde’s gesture, and then bam. Their eyes met.
Everything stopped. The noise. The conversations. The clatter of silverware and the low hum of the bar. Nothing fucking mattered because Savannah Monroe was staring right at him.
And Chase? He was staring right the fuck back.
Her expression shifted in slow motion—recognition first, then something unreadable. Surprise? Maybe. Hesitation? Probably. But beneath all of that, buried under years and distance and things unsaid, there was something else.
Something that damn near knocked the air from his lungs.
Across the table, Sara muttered, “Holy shit.”
Chase heard it distantly, but his body was no longer his own. It was reacting on instinct, his pulse hammering against his ribs, his fingers flexing against the table. His mind was working overtime, flipping through the years, piecing together every moment that had led to this.
Jaxon, always observant, leaned in slightly, eyes flicking between Chase and Savannah. “Well… that’s unexpected.”
Sara, however, wasn’t so quiet. She nudged Chase’s arm, watching him closely. “You good?”
His jaw tightened. He couldn’t take his fucking eyes off her. Savannah Monroe. Right here. In his bar. In his town. Sitting twenty mother-fucking feet away like she hadn’t haunted him for years.
Sara exhaled, reading him like an open book. “Jesus, Chase,” she murmured. “Your eyes just gave you away.”
He forced himself to look at her, brow furrowing. “What?”
She smirked, shaking her head. “You might as well have just walked over there and announced you’re still in love with her.”
Chase clenched his fists under the table, dragging in a slow breath. “I never said—”
Sara cut him off with a knowing look. “You didn’t have to.”
His stomach was a damn wrecking ball, slamming into his ribs, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Savannah looked different, yet exactly the same. More polished. More grown. More… untouchable.
And yet, the way she was looking at him?
It told him she was feeling every damn bit of this moment, too.
Jaxon leaned back, shaking his head with a grin. "So, what’s the plan?"
Chase scoffed, his voice rough. "The plan? There is no plan."
Sara hummed, giving him a look that made it clear she didn’t believe him. "Bullshit. You’re a man with a plan, Chase Montgomery. You always have been."
Chase dragged a hand down his face, feeling the weight of everything. "I don’t even know what I’d say to her."
Jaxon shrugged. "Start with hello."
Chase huffed out a breath, his fingers tapping against the table as his eyes drifted back to Savannah. "Yeah. Easy. Hello. After all these years. After everything. Like that’s gonna fucking work."
Sara smirked, lifting her glass. "Well, the way you’re looking at her? She won’t be the one walking away first."
Chase swallowed hard, jaw tightening as Savannah took a slow sip of her drink, eyes never leaving his.
He was fucked.
The weight of the past pressed down on him, memories colliding with reality in a way that made his chest ache. He could almost hear her laugh, almost feel the heat of those stolen nights, the whispered conversations under starlit skies, the taste of goodbye that had never really settled.
And now, just when he thought he had buried it, just when he had convinced himself that history had been rewritten—
She was here, rewriting it all over again.
Chase leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table as if steadying himself.
Jaxon let out a low whistle. "Man, you look like you just seen a ghost."
He had.
And she was more real than ever.