Page 18 of When Summer Returns

Luke studied the condensation on his glass. “He talked about you sometimes. In his way.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“Mostly comparing other people unfavorably to you.” His mouth quirked. “‘Jessie would’ve done it better.’ ‘Jessie wouldn’t make that mistake.’ That kind of thing.”

The revelation unsettled her. She’d spent years constructing a narrative in which her father had forgotten her existence, had erased her from his life as completely as she’d tried to erase him from hers. The idea that he’d continued to measure others against her was disconcerting.

“He was a complicated man,” Luke added when she remained silent.

“That’s one word for it.” Jessie stared out at the ocean, its surface glittering with late afternoon sunlight. “Did you ever wonder why I left?”

The question emerged unbidden, surprising her almost as much as it seemed to surprise him. Luke’s expression shifted, guard coming down just enough to reveal genuine puzzlement.

“Every day for years,” he admitted. “You were just gone. Your dad said you’d gone to stay with relatives up north, that you needed a fresh start. When no one heard from you, we all assumed you’d found whatever you were looking for elsewhere.”

The bitterness in his tone was subtle but unmistakable. Jessie weighed her options—truth versus the comfortable distance of half revelations. But before she could decide, a voice called from the doorway.

“Boss! The Ferguson party just called to add six people to their group coming for dinner. Tasha’s having kittens.”

Luke sighed, setting his untouched tea aside. “Duty calls. You should change before the dinner rush if you’re planning to join us.”

“I’ll be back,” she promised.

He nodded, something like approval flickering in his eyes before he turned away to handle the latest crisis. Jessie remained in her chair, watching as the restaurant began its transformation from casual lunch spot to evening destination—lights strung along the perimeter coming alive, candles appearing on tables, music shifting to something more sophisticated than the afternoon’s island pop.

Against all logic, she found herself looking forward to the coming shift. To proving herself capable in this unfamiliar arena. To surprising Luke Mallory with her adaptability.

And perhaps, if circumstances allowed, to continuing the conversation that had been interrupted.

Some truths had waited fifteen years to be spoken. They could wait a few hours more.

CHAPTERFIVE

Seeker’sIsland transformed at twilight. The brilliant blues of day surrendered to watercolor purples and deep oranges streaking across the horizon, casting the palm trees in stark silhouettes against the fading light. The air softened as heat gave way to the gentle caress of evening breeze, carrying the mingled scents of salt, jasmine, and distant rain.

Jessie James had forgotten how beautiful it could be.

After a week of bartending shifts that left her feet throbbing and her muscles aching in places she’d forgotten existed, she’d developed a new appreciation for the quiet moments when the day tourists departed on the last ferry. The rhythm of the island changed then—slower, more intimate, as if the land itself sighed with relief at being returned to those who truly belonged.

Not that she belonged. Not anymore. No matter how easily she’d slipped back into island routines.

She’d kicked off her shoes the moment she’d escaped from Seeker’s Paradise, leaving them abandoned on Luke’s porch as she made her way down to the shore. The sand felt like velvet between her toes, still warm from the day’s heat but cooling rapidly as darkness descended. She walked along the water’s edge, allowing gentle waves to lap at her ankles, soothing the ache in her feet.

Her new life—her temporary life—had developed a surprising rhythm. Mornings spent learning inventory systems and supplier relationships. Afternoons mastering the art of crafting perfect mojitos under Miguel’s theatrical tutelage. Evenings navigating the controlled chaos of dinner service, where tourists mingled with locals in a dance as old as the island itself.

And threading through it all, Luke Mallory’s constant presence—sometimes beside her, sometimes across the room, but always there, a gravitational force she couldn’t seem to escape.

She lowered herself to the sand where the tide was beginning its evening retreat, extending her legs so the cool water could soothe her aching feet. The emerging stars reflected in the obsidian surface of the ocean, tiny pinpricks of light dancing with each gentle wave.

Away from the tourist areas, the beach reverted to its natural state—no cabanas, no volleyball nets, just endless stretches of pristine sand bordered by sea oats that swayed with hypnotic grace in the evening breeze. To her left, the distant lights of the main harbor twinkled like earthbound stars. To her right, darkness stretched uninterrupted save for the lone beacon of Luke’s house perched on its stilts, windows glowing amber in the gathering dark.

The past week had stripped away her city veneer faster than she’d imagined possible. Her tailored separates had given way to denim shorts and tank tops. Her practical bob now curled wildly in the humidity, salt air giving it a texture no styling product had ever achieved. Her carefully manicured nails had surrendered to the practicalities of bar work, trimmed short and unpolished.

And she felt more alive than she had in fifteen years.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Jessie didn’t need to turn to identify the voice. A week of working side by side had retuned her senses to Luke Mallory’s presence—the particular cadence of his footsteps, the specific scent of his skin mingled with ocean air, the slight change in atmospheric pressure that seemed to accompany him into any space.

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