From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 196

**TITLE: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**
**Chapter 196**

**Chapter 118: 1 Beg Your Pardon?**

Savannah

Silence has a peculiar weight to it, one that is almost tangible.

It was only when I found myself nestled in the passenger seat of Dean’s car that I truly grasped its heaviness. The leather felt unforgivingly cold against the back of my thighs, and the soft, persistent hum of the engine filled the void between us—a void shaped by a conversation neither of us dared to initiate.

This was no ordinary silence. It was a stark contrast to the tranquil moments I had shared with Roman, where silence wrapped around us like a warm blanket, a comfortable cocoon that made us feel connected even without words. No, this silence was jagged and abrasive, like chewing on shards of glass, each moment stretching out painfully.

Dean’s familiar scent wafted through the air, a blend of his signature cologne and the sharp, minty aroma of peppermint gum. It was the same gum he had always chewed to mask the lingering taste of cigarettes, back in the days when we were together. I wondered if he had finally kicked the habit, as I couldn’t recall seeing him smoke during my time in New Hope. Yet, a nagging thought crept in—perhaps he had succumbed to the stress of everything that had recently unfolded in his life. My stomach twisted at the familiarity of it all, a visceral reminder of a time when I found comfort in his scent.

How utterly pathetic.

I shifted in my seat, pressing myself closer to the window as if it could somehow provide an escape. My arms folded tightly across my chest, I tried to angle my body just right, willing myself to vanish from this steel coffin. I was trapped with the one man who had shattered my heart into countless pieces and now had the audacity to drive me home as if we were nothing more than old friends casually catching up.

He cleared his throat, a sound that felt too loud and far too rehearsed. “So… how have you been?”

A laugh almost escaped my lips, a bitter and hollow sound. Almost. Instead, I rolled my eyes so dramatically I thought I might strain a muscle. Fantastic. Not only did I have to endure his driving, but now he wanted to engage in small talk as if we were nothing more than coworkers bumping into each other in the grocery aisle.

“Good,” I replied, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. I didn’t bother turning to face him; let him gaze at the side of my face. That was all he deserved.

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as the tendons in his hands flexed. “Umm, any date for the wedding?”

What the actual hell?

I whipped my head around to face him, anger igniting within me like dry kindling catching fire. “Excuse me?”

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