Chapter 22 Table for Four
Table for Four
Savannah Monroe was screwed. Not in the literal sense, unfortunately. But in the utterly done for, completely gone, absolutely ruined by Chase Montgomery sense.
And judging by Mallory’s reaction the moment they pulled up to his house, she wasn’t far behind.
They barely made it up the porch steps before Mallory let out a long, slow whistle, tilting her head back to take it all in. “Okay, this man is officially trying to ruin my standards. This is gorgeous.”
Savannah hadn’t taken the time to truly appreciate it before, but now, standing beside her best friend, she saw it through fresh eyes.
The house was effortlessly masculine—coastal yet strong, with deep blue siding, crisp honey trim, and windows glowing with soft golden light.
The porch stretched wide, lined with weathered rocking chairs that seemed to whisper of slow mornings and late-night conversations.
Mallory elbowed her. “Tell me this man doesn’t own candles. If he does, I’m dead. I will die on this doorstep.”
Savannah rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I am aware,” Mallory said solemnly, “but that doesn’t answer my question.”
Before Savannah could respond, the front door swung open.
And there he was.
Chase stood barefoot in the doorway, wearing dark jeans and a fitted navy Henley that clung in all the right places. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it while cooking, and the sight of him sent a fresh wave of warmth rolling through Savannah’s stomach.
“Ladies,” he drawled, his deep voice laced with amusement as his gaze locked onto Savannah’s with a slow-burning intensity that made her breath catch.
Mallory cleared her throat. “Hey, Chase. Do you own candles?”
Chase blinked, taken aback. “Uh—yeah?”
Mallory groaned, pressing a hand to her chest. “I knew it. You’re killing me.”
Savannah laughed as Chase smirked, stepping aside. “Come on in. Nate’s already raiding my whiskey stash.”
They followed him inside, and the moment Mallory stepped through the door, she gasped so loudly Savannah thought she might need medical attention.
“Oh. My. God.”
Savannah turned, watching as Mallory spun in a slow circle, eyes wide in awe.
“Savy, look at this place,” she breathed. “This is some ripped-out-of-a-magazine, dream-home shit. What the hell?”
And honestly? Mallory wasn’t wrong.
Savannah had only really seen the kitchen before, but now, standing in the open living room, it was like stepping into something unreal.
The walls were a warm, muted gray, complemented by navy and deep walnut wood.
A massive stone fireplace stretched from floor to ceiling, its hearth flickering with soft light.
A plush, oversized sectional faced it—the kind of couch that invited sinking in for hours.
Across the room, glass doors opened onto a patio where string lights twinkled like stars against the night.
Mallory turned to Chase, pointing an accusing finger. “How dare you.”
Chase lifted an amused brow. “How dare I what?”
“Be this good-looking and have impeccable taste? It’s infuriating.” She spun on Savannah. “You’ve never been in this house?”
Savannah shook her head, still a little overwhelmed.
Mallory placed a hand on her hip. “Montgomery. Tour. Now.”
Chase chuckled, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Look around.”
Savannah hesitated. “You sure?”
His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Yeah. Go on, Monroe.”
That was all Mallory needed to hear before she practically dragged Savannah down the hallway, flinging doors open with reckless enthusiasm.
The dining room was elegant yet inviting—rich wood, low-hanging pendant lights, and a table large enough to fit eight comfortably.
“Imagine Sunday dinners here,” Mallory muttered. “I’d move in.”
Savannah laughed as they continued upstairs, moving from one beautifully designed space to another until they reached a closed door at the end of the hall.
Mallory shot her a look. “Is this his room?”
Savannah shrugged. “How would I know? First time in the house, remember?”
Mallory rolled her eyes before Savannah reached for the rustic doorknob, twisting it open.
Mallory gasped, grabbing Savannah’s arm in dramatic horror.
The bedroom was nothing short of breathtaking.
Deep navy walls. Dark gray bedding. Floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the water like a living painting. The bed was massive—king-sized, with a rough-hewn wooden headboard that looked like something handcrafted. It was the kind of space that felt private—untouchable.
Mallory smirked, tilting her head. “Soooo… this is where the magic almost happened, huh?”
Savannah’s cheeks burned. “Shut up.”
Mallory ignored her, stepping inside and spinning slowly in place. “Oh, I hate him. This is too good. I wonder how many women have been in this bed?” She flopped onto it, bouncing once.
Savannah wrinkled her nose, not particularly wanting to dwell on that thought. Instead, she pointed toward the massive walk-in shower. Dark tile. A rainfall showerhead. And—of course—candles lined up neatly on the built-in shelf.
Mallory groaned so loudly it was almost comical. “Oh my God. He has candles in the bathroom.”
Savannah slapped a hand over her face.
Mallory turned, hands on her hips, deadly serious. “Savy, if you don’t sleep with this man, I will.”
Savannah burst out laughing, shaking her head as Chase’s voice rang from the kitchen.
“You two done snooping?”
Mallory grinned. “We’re coming!” She smirked at Savannah, wiggling her brows. “You lucky bitch.”
Savannah just smiled, warmth curling in her chest. "Yeah."
She knew.
They returned to the kitchen, where Nate—who was tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably good-looking—was leaning against the counter, swirling a glass of bourbon.
When he saw Mallory, he grinned. “Well, damn. Chase didn’t tell me you were gorgeous.”
Mallory tilted her head, smirking. “And you must be Nate.”
“Guilty.” He extended his glass. “Want a drink?”
She took it without hesitation, taking a slow sip. “Depends. What are we drinking to?”
Nate’s smirk widened. “To distractions worth wanting?”
Mallory’s gaze flickered to Savannah briefly before she looked back at Nate, her lips curving in amusement. “I’ll drink to that.”
Chase leaned down, his breath hot against Savannah’s ear. “Should we be worried about them?”
Savannah tilted her head, pretending to think. “Eh. Let them have their fun.”
Chase chuckled, but there was something in his eyes that made her stomach flip. Something dark. Something heated.
“So,” she said, trying to act casual. “What’s on the menu, Chef Montgomery?”
Chase smirked, stepping back toward the stove. “Steak, grilled asparagus, and roasted potatoes.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow. “Fancy.”
He shrugged, grabbing a bottle of wine and pouring them each a glass. “You deserve a real meal.”
She took the glass, their fingers brushing, and the simple touch sent a spark racing up her spine.
Mallory and Nate were already deep in conversation at the kitchen island, their flirting practically sizzling in the air.
Chase leaned against the counter, watching Savannah as he took a sip of his wine. “Come here.”
Her breath caught at the command in his voice.
She stepped closer, and he reached for her, his fingers trailing lightly along her hip before settling at her waist.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
“You’re beautiful,” he countered, his voice husky.
Her heart pounded. “Are you always this smooth?”
Chase smirked. “Only when it comes to you.”
Savannah exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “You really don’t fight fair, do you?”
Chase tilted his head, his lips hovering just above hers.
“Nope.”
And God help her—she loved it.