’Holy Shit.’
“Holy shit.”
Savannah snapped to attention, her heart already hammering at the way Mallory’s voice had gone tight, breathless.
Not good.
“What?”
Mallory didn’t answer right away. Her brows furrowed, her expression unreadable as she stared at her phone like it had just betrayed her. Then, slowly, she turned the screen toward Savannah—“Look.”
Savannah hesitated, pulse spiking, the air thick with something she didn’t understand. But the second her eyes landed on the words, her lungs stopped working. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Whispering Echoes on the Sound – A Legacy, now on the Market.
Her throat went dry as she snatched the phone from Mallory. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she scrolled, vision blurring at the sight of it.
The house.
His house.
The dock. The stairs. The kitchen.
Their kitchen.
Mallory exhaled beside her. “Wow. He really did some upgrades.”
But Savannah wasn’t listening. As her gaze scanned each image, the familiar and unfamiliar blended together in a cruel, perfect contradiction—like something sacred had been touched, reshaped.
It was still Chase’s house, but somehow, it wasn’t.
The kitchen had new cabinets, fresh paint.
The living room looked brighter, the old furniture replaced, everything warm and polished, inviting but foreign. It was still him, but also not.
She kept scrolling, searching for something—anything—that still felt like him.
And then, she saw it.
Her breath caught.
"Oh my God." She exclaimed. Panic bloomed in her chest, spreading like wildfire.
Mallory jumped off the counter, alarmed. “What? What is it?”
Savannah froze, thumb hovering over the screen as her pulse roared in her ears.
"No."—"No, no, no." She repeated. Savannah could barely think, barely breathe, as she held up the phone with trembling fingers.
The guest bedroom on the first floor. Only—it wasn’t a guest bedroom anymore.
The walls had been painted a soft, light gray with crisp white trim. The built-in shelves had been refinished and expanded—the same ones she had once imagined filling with stories.
But there were more now. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with books, some new, some worn from the touch of countless hands.
And the bay window?—A reading nook now.
Cushions, pillows, the perfect spot to get lost in a book.
It was beautiful.
It was exactly how she had pictured it.
But that wasn’t what stole her breath.
No.
One detail shattered her. One detail sent every carefully constructed wall she had built around herself crumbling to the ground.
Centered on one of the shelves, nestled between the books, was an empty space.
And in that space, written in elegant, familiar script, was a single quote:
Books are my love language.
Savannah broke.
A strangled sob ripped from her chest as she slapped a hand over her mouth, body jolting forward from the sheer force of it.
Mallory stilled. She didn’t know. She didn’t understand.
Savannah’s fingers curled around the phone, knuckles white, tears flooding her vision, drowning her in the weight of it.
She shook her head, voice shaking, breathless. “When we went on our getting lost trip—”
Mallory didn’t move, but her eyes flickered with something fragile, something soft and knowing.
Savannah swallowed, her throat thick with emotion. “We found this old bookstore. It was beautiful. Chase just stood there, watching me, smiling like a fool as I went through hundreds of books.”
Mallory inhaled sharply.
Savannah let out a shaky, breathless laugh, one that sounded nothing like joy. “I told him—” She wiped at her cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop. “I told him his guest bedroom would make the perfect library. I told him to get built-in shelves. A nook under the bay window.”
Her voice broke—“I told him that books were my love language.”
Mallory gasped, “Oh my God.” Her own eyes glossing over now.
Savannah pressed the phone to her chest, clutching it like it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
“Mallory,” her voice fractured, barely above a whisper. “He did this for me.”
Mallory let out a shaky breath, her voice thick, “Sav—he did this for you. After you left. After you shattered him.”
Savannah covered her mouth with her hand, trying—failing—to keep the sobs at bay. But it was useless.
The weight of it crashed down on her.
The love he had poured into something she thought she had walked away from. The pieces of her that still lived in him, even after everything.
She had been running for so long.
And Chase?—
Chase had never stopped loving her.
Savannah sucked in a breath so sharp it physically hurt.
And then?
Then she sobbed. Because this?
This was love.
The kind of love that doesn’t fade, doesn’t waver, doesn’t move on just because someone walks away.
The kind of love that stays etched in the foundation of a home, waiting, hoping, even when it knows it shouldn’t.
The kind of love that builds bookshelves, paints walls, and leaves space—empty but expectant—knowing exactly who it was made for.
This was Chase.
Mallory sniffed, wiping a tear from her own cheek.
“That is the perfect man.”
Savannah shook her head, her body trembling, her soul unraveling.
“And I let him go.”
Mallory placed a firm hand on her shoulder, grounding her.
“Then don’t.”
Savannah’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Don’t let him go, Sav. You want to see him? Then see him. You want to talk to him? Then talk to him.”
Savannah wiped at her face, exhaling shakily. “How? I can’t just show up. What if he—”
Mallory cut her off, voice fierce, unwavering.
“We form a plan.”
Savannah stared at her, uncertainty and hope waging war inside her.
“A plan?”
Mallory nodded.
“He’s in Asheville. We know where he’s staying. He told me he’s free tomorrow night.
We make this happen. No more excuses. No more running.”
Savannah hesitated for only a second longer before nodding.
“Okay.”
She exhaled, resolve settling deep in her bones.
“Let’s do it.”