Page 36 of When Summer Returns

The routine patter of daily business flowed around them—produce deliveries running late, a large party reservation for the weekend, the band requesting an earlier slot for tonight’s performance. Luke allowed the familiar rhythm to wash over him, anchoring him to the present when his thoughts kept drifting to Jessie’s face in the moonlight, her body swaying against his as Etta James crooned about finding a dream.

“One more thing before we break,” Luke said as the meeting wound down. “Weather service update came through this morning. Tropical depression forming off the African coast.”

“It’s that time of year,” Tasha said with a philosophical shrug. “My knees have been aching for three days. Always know when something’s brewing out there.”

“Still just a baby storm,” Miguel added, scrolling through his phone. “Not even named yet. Looking at the models…might strengthen to hurricane status in four, five days. Too early to tell if it’ll swing our way.”

“Hurricane season,” Mateo sighed dramatically. “The annual test of my refrigeration anxiety.”

“I’ve already ordered extra ice and water,” Luke said. “Standard early preparation. We’ll know more in a couple of days.”

“Some things never change,” Jessie observed with a knowing smile. “First sign of a forming storm and the island starts its ritual dance.”

“You remember the drill,” Tasha said with approval. “Most mainlanders who move here panic at the first tropical depression.”

“I may have been gone fifteen years,” Jessie replied, “but I haven’t forgotten how to board up windows or stack sandbags against a surge.”

“Island life,” Tasha nodded. “Either you live by nature’s rules or you move to Kansas.”

“And trade hurricanes for tornadoes?” Miguel scoffed. “No thanks. At least hurricanes have the decency to send a warning first.”

The meeting dispersed, staff members drifting to their respective stations to prepare for opening. Luke found himself alone with Jessie, the space between them charged with words unsaid, questions unasked.

“You seemed comfortable on the dance floor last night,” he said finally, organizing papers that didn’t need organizing.

“Muscle memory,” she replied with a small smile. “Some things you don’t forget.”

“Like Etta James.”

“Like Etta James.” Her eyes met his, filled with memories they both shared. “Though I don’t remember the band being quite so good back when we were teenagers.”

“The Rusty Anchor’s three-piece ensemble wasn’t exactly Grammy material,” Luke agreed, remembering the slightly out-of-tune renditions that had nevertheless provided the soundtrack to their youth. “But what they lacked in talent, they made up for in enthusiasm.”

“And volume,” Jessie added with a laugh that momentarily transformed her face, erasing years and worries. “Remember old Mr. Davidson threatening to sink their boat if they played ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ one more time?”

“I think he meant it too.” Luke found himself smiling at the memory. “The man once fired a shotgun at a tourist’s radio for playing Bon Jovi too loud.”

“Simpler times.”

“Different times,” Luke corrected gently.

Something softened in Jessie’s eyes, and for a moment, Luke saw beyond the carefully constructed façade to the woman beneath—still finding her footing, still navigating the treacherous waters between past and present.

“What do you do when a hurricane comes?” she asked, changing the subject. “Fifteen years in Savannah and I never got used to the evacuation drills.”

“We prepare. We wait. We clean up afterwards.” Luke moved to the bar, his hands automatically wiping down the already spotless surface. “Some evacuate to the mainland, but many stay. The island’s got a good elevation, and most structures are built to code now. When I renovated the bar, I installed heavy-duty rolldown shutters for all the open sides—industrial grade, hurricane rated. We can secure the entire place in under an hour.”

“Smart investment.” Jessie nodded appreciatively.

“Had to be done. The bar becomes a sort of community center during storms—generator power, food stores, medical supplies. The central structure is reinforced concrete beneath all that island charm. It’s one of the safest buildings on this side of the island.”

“Island hurricane party?”

“Something like that. Though Reece prefers the term ‘emergency shelter.’” He glanced at her, curious. “Where were you during Elise three years back? That one hit Savannah pretty hard.”

“Conference in Chicago,” she said. “Watched it all on TV from a hotel room. Felt strange, seeing palm trees bent sideways in places I recognized, knowing I was safely a thousand miles away.”

Luke nodded, understanding the peculiar guilt of distance. He’d experienced it during his Coast Guard years, watching storms ravage familiar coastlines while he’d been stationed elsewhere.

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