Page 11 of When Summer Returns

“Tomorrow,” she agreed, grateful for his shift to business matters.

As she wound her way through the increasingly crowded establishment, Jessie felt a curious mixture of regret and relief. It had been too easy to slip back into the familiar pattern of island life, too tempting to imagine she could simply resume where she’d left off fifteen years ago. But the cracks in her carefully constructed composure were already showing, the emotional toll of proximity to Luke greater than she’d anticipated.

She’d spent fifteen years building herself into someone who didn’t need Seeker’s Island or Luke Mallory. Someone who didn’t wake in the night wondering what might have been. Someone defined by achievement rather than absence.

One day back, and those carefully constructed walls were already crumbling.

Jessie drove the winding coastal road in contemplative silence, watching as the setting sun cast long shadows across the sand. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges—conversations about business, decisions about her future, perhaps even confrontations with her past. But for tonight, she would retreat to the sanctuary of Luke’s guest room and regroup.

Whatever magic Seeker’s Island still held for her, whatever pull Luke Mallory’s blue eyes exerted on her heart, she would face it with the strength she’d spent fifteen years cultivating. She had not returned to reclaim the past, but to reconcile with it.

Or so she told herself as the yellow house came into view, golden in the last light of day.

CHAPTERFOUR

Jessie’sinternal alarm clock betrayed her at five thirty the next morning, a holdover from years of pre-market analysis and early client calls. She lay still, listening to the island wake around her—the distant rhythm of waves, the insistent call of gulls, the rustling palms just beyond the windows. Sleep had come easier than expected, as if her body remembered the island’s lullaby even after fifteen years away.

Light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting patterns across the guest room that seemed less foreign today than yesterday. She stretched languidly, mentally preparing herself for what promised to be a physically demanding day. Becoming a bar owner hadn’t been on her five-year plan, but if she was going to be one—even temporarily—she would do it properly.

She showered quickly, opting for practicality over polish. Her usual wardrobe of tailored separates and designer dresses would be ridiculous in a beach bar. Instead, she chose lightweight khaki shorts and a sleeveless blue button-down that could withstand heat and humidity. She ran a comb through her short hair, applied minimal makeup, and slipped into comfortable Birkenstocks that wouldn’t leave her crippled after hours on her feet.

Coffee was already brewing when she emerged from her room, but no sign of Luke. A note propped against the pot read:Early seafood delivery. Lock up when you leave.

Just as well. Their dinner-that-wasn’t last night had left things awkward between them. Better to have their next encounter on neutral territory with plenty of witnesses to prevent either of them from saying something regrettable.

Jessie filled a travel mug with coffee, snagged an apple from the fruit bowl, and headed for the door. The morning air greeted her with that particular island combination of salt, flowers, and impending heat that had featured prominently in her dreams of home over the years. She paused on the porch, allowing herself a moment to absorb the peach-gold sunrise spreading across the ocean horizon.

This view alone might be worth the price of admission.

She descended the stairs to where her golf cart waited beneath the house, parked beside Luke’s battered pickup. The cart’s battery had recharged overnight, its gauge showing full power for the journey to Seeker’s Paradise. Jessie settled behind the wheel, the apple clamped between her teeth as she navigated the path away from Luke’s secluded home.

The island looked different in early morning light—softer, somehow, with dew still clinging to the dense vegetation and mist rising from the stretches of sand visible between trees. Few people were stirring yet, though she passed an elderly couple walking hand in hand along the coastal road and a solitary runner whose raised hand acknowledged her with island familiarity.

She’d forgotten how everyone greeted everyone here, regardless of acquaintance. In Savannah, even neighbors maintained a polite distance unless properly introduced. In New York, eye contact itself was considered an act of aggression. Here, a nod and wave were the minimum acceptable interaction.

She followed the coastal road toward Seeker's Paradise. Employees in staff T-shirts were busy reinstalling the umbrellas they'd removed during the storm, their movements efficient and practiced. The parking area confirmed Miguel's assessment of the lunch rush, so Jessie parked near the kitchen entrance and made her way to the main area.

Movement near the delivery entrance caught her attention—Luke directing two men unloading crates from a refrigerated truck. He wore cargo shorts slung low on his hips and a faded T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, revealing shoulders bronzed from island sun. His hair was still damp, curling against his neck as he gestured toward the kitchen doorway.

Jessie approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt what appeared to be a well-choreographed routine. She stopped several feet away, waiting for a break in activity to announce her presence.

Luke spotted her before she could speak. His surprise registered briefly before his expression settled into neutral courtesy. “You’re up early.”

“Old habits.” She gestured toward the crates being carried inside. “Need a hand?”

“We’ve got it covered.” He signed a clipboard handed to him by the delivery driver. “But you’re welcome to observe the exciting world of seafood procurement.”

“Be still my heart,” she deadpanned. “And here I left my camera at home.”

One corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Coffee’s on inside if you want some. Miguel won’t be in for another hour, and the rest of the crew comes at ten.”

“I brought my own.” She lifted her travel mug. “But I wouldn’t say no to a tour of the operation. Figured I should know what I’m part owner of.”

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, at her interest in the business details. “Sure. Let me finish up here and I’ll show you around.”

Jessie waited while Luke completed the transaction, exchanging easy banter with the delivery men about fishing conditions and weather patterns. Their interaction revealed the depth of his island connections—he knew their names, asked about family members, made inside jokes that spoke of long acquaintance. This wasn’t just business; it was community.

“All set,” he said, returning to her side after the truck departed. “Ready for the grand tour?”

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