Page 53 of When Summer Returns

As Reece departed, muttering something about pushy women, Maggie grinned at Jessie. “You haven’t lost your touch. I heard stories about teenage Jessie James wrapping the entire island around her finger.”

“Gross exaggeration,” Jessie protested. “I merely suggested reasonable courses of action that happened to align with my interests.”

“Which is exactly what you just did with Reece,” Luke pointed out, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Some things never change.”

“And some things do,” she countered, allowing her gaze to hold his a moment longer than necessary.

Something electric passed between them before Tasha’s sharp voice broke the connection.

“Luke! Generator at the community center’s failing. They’ve got eight elderly residents who need power for medical equipment.”

“On it,” he called back, already shifting into problem-solving mode. “Jessie, can you?—”

“Redirect the electrical team from the marina? Already done.” She handed him a paper with names and contact information. “These three have generator repair experience. They’re heading to the community center now.”

Luke paused, something like wonder crossing his face. “You’re really good at this.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed without false modesty. “Now go fix things. That’s what you’re good at.”

He grinned, a flash of the boy he’d been lighting up the man he’d become, before jogging toward the door.

The day exploded into action. By midmorning, Jessie found herself knee deep in muddy water alongside Luke and three teenage volunteers, hauling waterlogged furniture from the community center’s flooded basement.

“On three!” Luke called, gripping one end of a sodden couch while Jessie and a muscular sixteen-year-old boy named Tyler took the other end. “One, two, THREE!”

They heaved the dripping monstrosity up the narrow staircase, water cascading from the cushions and splashing back down on them. Jessie’s muscles screamed in protest, but she kept her grip firm.

“Almost there,” she gasped, backing up the final steps. “Don’t you dare slip, Tyler.”

“No ma’am,” the boy grunted, his face red with effort.

They finally maneuvered the couch onto the center’s main floor, adding it to a growing pile of salvage-or-dump decisions. Jessie wiped sweat and mud from her forehead, inadvertently leaving a streak of grime in its place.

“You’ve got a little something…” Luke gestured to her face, his eyes crinkling.

“Pretty sure we all do.” She glanced at his mud-spattered form. “You look like you’ve been mud wrestling.”

“Rematch later?” His teasing grin sent heat rushing through her that had nothing to do with exertion.

Two hours and six pieces of furniture later, they emerged into sunlight to find the street transformed into an impromptu work zone. Neighbors formed human chains passing debris buckets, children collected smaller items for sorting, and someone had set up a water station where volunteers rotated through for hydration breaks.

After a quick water refill, Jessie joined a team clearing fallen palm fronds from Mrs. Peterson’s roof while Luke headed to the marina to help secure damaged boats. When they crossed paths again, it was at the elementary school where a massive oak had fallen dangerously close to the building.

“Stand back!” Reece shouted as the chainsaw team made their final cut.

Jessie watched as Luke and four other men held guide ropes, muscles straining as they controlled the massive trunk’s descent away from the school walls. When the section crashed safely to the ground, Luke looked up and caught her eye, the flash of triumph in his face matching the rush of admiration in her chest.

Their paths continued to cross throughout the day—hauling debris together at the elementary school, shoulders bumping as they manhandled a fallen tree limb away from a storefront, sharing a water bottle during a brief rest while comparing notes on the community center repairs. Each encounter built on the previous one, creating a rhythm of partnership that felt both familiar and excitingly new.

She watched him lift fallen branches alongside septuagenarians who refused to admit they couldn’t manage alone. Saw him joke with frightened children while their parents assessed home damage, distracting them with impromptu treasure hunts through safe debris piles. Observed his easy authority with work teams, never demanding respect but earning it through shared labor and clear direction.

Most striking was how he handled the island’s most vulnerable residents. When Mrs. Calloway—ninety-two and stubbornly independent—refused to leave her damaged home, Luke didn’t argue. Instead, he simply sat on her porch, patiently explaining why staying was dangerous until she “reluctantly” agreed to relocate temporarily to her daughter’s intact house.

“You’ve always had a way with difficult women,” Jessie observed as they walked back from the Calloway residence, the afternoon sun finally breaking through lingering clouds.

“Years of practice,” he replied, those blue eyes fixing on her with an intensity that sent heat curling through her despite her exhaustion. “Some are worth the effort.”

The comment hung between them, charged with meaning she wasn’t quite ready to address. Instead, she gestured to a fallen palm blocking their path. “Need help moving that?”

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