Page 4 of When Summer Returns

“I’m sure they seemed terribly important to an eighteen-year-old girl.” His dismissive tone sent heat rushing to her cheeks. “But we’re not teenagers anymore. So let’s be clear about why you’re here now.”

“I told you?—”

“You’re claiming what’s yours.” Luke leaned against the bar, crossing his arms. “After fifteen years without a word, suddenly my livelihood is your property. Convenient timing.”

A crash of thunder punctuated his accusation, rattling the glassware along the back wall. Jessie inhaled slowly, counting to five as she’d learned in therapy. She wouldn’t let him provoke her into saying more than she intended. Not yet. Not until she better understood what she was dealing with.

“Do you really think I’d return for money? That I couldn’t make my own way?”

“I don’t know what to think, Jess.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it appealingly disheveled. “I don’t know you anymore. Maybe I never did.”

The simple truth of his statement struck deeper than his anger had. She didn’t know him either—this hardened version of the boy whose gentle hands and tender words had once been her only escape. They were strangers now, connected only by memories neither could fully trust.

“We were kids,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” Something in his expression shifted, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability before shuttering closed again. “Kids who thought they knew everything.”

The radio on the counter crackled to life, static giving way to an emergency broadcast. The storm had intensified to tropical force winds, and island residents were advised to secure property and remain indoors. Jessie glanced toward the golf cart she’d parked under the eaves, calculating her odds of reaching the island’s only hotel before the weather worsened further.

Luke followed her gaze and sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “You’re not thinking of heading out in this, are you?”

“I need to check into my room before they give it away.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of tourist season. Every room on this island has been booked for months.”

“I made a reservation,” she countered, though doubt crept in. The call she’d placed had gone straight to voicemail, and she’d never received a confirmation.

Luke shook his head. “Since when does Meg Fraser check messages? The woman still keeps reservations in a spiral notebook.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the beach if I have to.” Jessie lifted her chin, daring him to challenge her.

To her surprise, he laughed—a genuine sound that transformed his face and sent an unwelcome ripple of warmth through her.

“Still stubborn as a barnacle, I see.” He moved toward the kitchen, beckoning for her to follow. “Come on. I’ll fix some coffee while we figure this out. You look half drowned already.”

The kitchen was smaller than she’d expected but immaculately organized. Stainless-steel appliances gleamed under efficient lighting, and the preparation surfaces were spotless. A door at the far end presumably led to storage areas, while another stood partially open, revealing what appeared to be a small office.

Luke moved with easy familiarity, measuring coffee grounds and filling the industrial machine with water. The domestic normalcy of the scene struck Jessie as oddly intimate, more disconcerting than their earlier confrontation. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their reunion—not that she’d allowed herself to imagine it often.

“You can’t stay at the Cove,” he said as the coffee began to drip. “Not just because of availability. The north road flooded last night, and they haven’t finished repairs. You’d never make it through in a golf cart.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Always do, don’t you?” His tone was neutral, but the implication hung between them. She’d managed without him. Without any of them.

Jessie leaned against the counter, arms crossed defensively. “What exactly do you want me to say, Luke?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled two mugs from a cabinet, setting them beside the coffee machine with more force than necessary. “Maybe start with why you never called. Never wrote. Never let anyone know if you were even alive.”

Because I was protecting you.The words rose to her lips but remained unspoken. He wouldn’t understand—not without knowing everything, and she wasn’t ready to revisit those memories. Not when they’d already begun seeping through the carefully constructed barriers fifteen years away had built.

“It was complicated,” she offered instead.

“It always is with you.”

The coffee machine sputtered to completion, and Luke filled both mugs. He added cream to his, then hesitated, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“You still take it black?”

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