Page 35 of When Summer Returns

“The band’s taking requests,” Luke said, his voice low near Jessie’s ear. “Any favorites?”

The warmth of his breath against her skin sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. “Surprise me,” she replied, meeting his gaze with a challenge of her own.

“Oh sure, give the man carte blanche to torture us all with his musical taste,” Maggie groaned. “Next thing you know we’ll be listening to yacht rock all night.”

“I’ll have you know my musical taste is impeccable,” Luke protested.

“He made the band learn ‘Margaritaville’ last summer,” Reece stage-whispered to Jessie. “They played it seventeen times in one night. There was nearly a riot.”

“It was not seventeen times,” Luke objected. “It was five. Maybe six.”

“It felt like seventeen,” Reece insisted.

Luke’s slow smile held promises that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with the unresolved tension humming between them. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As he moved toward the small stage, Jessie became aware of Reece and Maggie watching them with identical expressions of speculative interest.

“Not just business partners, I take it?” Maggie asked, her voice pitched for Jessie’s ears alone.

“We’re figuring it out as we go,” Jessie said. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Maggie observed. “The man looks at you like you’re the last cold beer on a hot day. Just be careful, Jessie. Islands have long memories.”

“So do I,” Jessie replied softly. “That’s part of the problem.”

As if to underscore her point, the band began to play the opening notes of “At Last” by Etta James, the soulful strings and iconic melody washing over the restaurant. It was the same song that had been playing the first time Luke had kissed her, sixteen and trembling with the newness of discovery. The timeless ballad transported her instantly back to that summer night, standing beneath the stars, his hands gentle on her face.

Jessie looked up to find Luke watching her from across the room, his expression a blend of memory and question. Without breaking their gaze, he crooked his finger in a subtle invitation and began making his way toward the small area where a few couples had started dancing.

Something tugged at Jessie’s heart as she rose from her chair, drawn by forces stronger than reason or caution. They met halfway on the makeshift dance floor, neither speaking as the music wrapped around them like a tangible thing.

Some ghosts, it seemed, weren’t meant to be banished but rather welcomed home like old friends, their presence a reminder of all that had been lost and might yet be found again.

The night stretched before them, filled with music and possibilities, the past and present merging like the convergence of tides at Seeker’s Spring—hot and cold, bitter and sweet, the alchemy of opposites creating something entirely new from the elements of what had come before.

CHAPTEREIGHT

A restless dawnbroke over Seeker’s Island, painting the horizon in watercolor washes of coral and gold that belied the distant weather warnings. Seabirds wheeled lower than usual, their instinctive awareness of barometric changes sending them searching for sheltered perches while humans remained oblivious to nature’s subtle signals.

Luke stood reviewing inventory lists at the bar, the familiar routine grounding him after a night of unexpected revelations. Soft island breezes carried the scent of brine and jasmine through the open-air structure, gently stirring the paper in his hands.

Morning staff meetings had become a comfortable ritual—Miguel slouched in a chair nursing coffee like it contained the elixir of life, Tasha meticulously arranging the day’s reservation list in precise columns, and Mateo gesturing with enthusiastic hands as he described the day’s specials. The rhythm of these gatherings had remained unchanged for years—until Jessie had joined their ranks, her quiet observations and occasional insights shifting the group’s dynamics in subtle ways Luke was still learning to navigate.

She arrived precisely on time, as she had every morning since taking on her role at the bar. Her short hair was still damp from a shower, her skin flushed with that particular island glow that came from embracing rather than fighting the humidity. She wore simple linen shorts and a sleeveless blouse the color of sea foam, practical yet undeniably elegant. Luke caught himself watching the graceful movement of her hands as she poured herself coffee, the way sunlight caught in her dark hair turning it momentarily blue-black.

She met his gaze over the rim of her mug, and something passed between them—an acknowledgment of the previous night’s dance, a question neither was ready to voice. The memory of Etta James’s soulful voice and Jessie’s body moving with his own lingered like perfume in still air.

“Morning, boss,” Miguel greeted Jessie with an easy grin. “Heard you and the doc closed the place down last night.”

“Some of us actually work past midnight,” she replied, settling into an empty chair. “Unlike certain bartenders who mysteriously vanish when cleanup starts.”

“I had a date with destiny.”

“Is that what the surf instructor is calling herself these days?”

Luke cleared his throat, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “If we could focus for five minutes before the inevitable descent into chaos?”

Tasha snorted, not bothering to look up from her perfectly aligned paperwork. “Dream big, boss.”

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