Page 6 of When Summer Returns

“Stay close,”Luke had said, and Jessie found herself doing exactly that as they stepped out into nature’s fury. The storm swallowed them whole the moment they left the bar’s shelter, wind snatching at her dress and rain pelting her skin like tiny needles.

Luke’s arm circled her shoulders, drawing her against the solid warmth of his side beneath the umbrella’s questionable protection. His fresh T-shirt was already dampening, and the scent of rain mingled with something distinctly Luke—a combination of salt air, coffee, and that indefinable male essence she’d never quite forgotten.

“Take this,” he insisted, draping a waterproof windbreaker around her shoulders. The jacket dwarfed her slender frame, but she welcomed both its protection and the brief respite from his touch.

The wind howled around them, snatching their breath and making conversation impossible. Jessie concentrated on her footing, grateful for his steadying presence as the sand shifted beneath her impractical sandals.

Just when she thought they’d never reach their destination, a structure materialized through the rain-swept darkness. Unlike the thatched roof of the bar, Luke’s home presented a stately silhouette against the storm-darkened morning sky. The two-story coastal home was elevated on sturdy pilings, its soft yellow exterior barely visible through the driving rain.

They climbed a flight of wooden stairs to a deep, wraparound porch that sheltered the entire front of the house. Generous white columns supported an upper balcony that mirrored the porch below. Even through the rain, Jessie could see the thoughtful details—the intricate railing, ceiling fans spinning lazily overhead, and comfortable seating arranged to encourage lingering.

“Home sweet home,” Luke said, collapsing the umbrella and shaking it vigorously. Water pooled at their feet as they stood dripping on the welcome mat.

Jessie pushed back the hood of the windbreaker, taking in her first glimpse of Luke Mallory’s private world. The porch extended the full width of the house, furnished with white wicker chairs and a hanging swing that creaked gently in the wind. Potted palms and tropical plants occupied strategic corners, thriving in the island’s humid climate. Fishing gear hung neatly on wall hooks, alongside what appeared to be equipment for diving and snorkeling.

“It’s not much,” he said, misinterpreting her silence as disappointment. “But it keeps the rain out. Most days.”

“It’s lovely,” she replied honestly. The simple assessment seemed to surprise him.

He unlocked the door and stepped back, allowing her to enter first. Jessie hesitated on the threshold, suddenly aware of the intimacy of entering his home. This was nothing like the impersonal hotel room she’d anticipated. This was Luke’s sanctuary, filled with his life, his choices, his memories.

The interior welcomed her with unexpected warmth. An open-concept living area featured exposed beam ceilings and hardwood floors in a rich honey tone. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the back wall, designed to maximize the breathtaking ocean view. Even in the storm’s gloom, she could sense how sunlight would normally flood this space, dancing across the comfortable furnishings arranged for both conversation and contemplation.

A fireplace occupied one wall, its mantel fashioned from driftwood and adorned with sea glass and shells. Built-in bookshelves flanked the hearth, filled with an eclectic mixture of novels, maritime references, and what appeared to be photo albums. Plush sofas in crisp white cotton slipcovers invited relaxation, accented with pillows in shades of blue and green that echoed the ocean visible beyond the windows.

A spiral staircase of polished wood led to the upper floor, where Jessie glimpsed a balcony overlook. The space managed to be both elegant and utterly unpretentious—much like the island itself.

“You’re soaked,” Luke observed, his gaze traveling over her with an assessment that felt far from clinical. “Let me show you where you can get cleaned up.”

He moved with the efficiency of someone accustomed to solitude, leading her down a hallway off the main living area. “Guest room is here,” he said, pushing open a door to reveal a simply furnished but inviting space. A queen-sized bed with a handmade quilt dominated the room, flanked by nightstands with reading lamps. A large window faced east, promising sunrise views over the ocean. A glass door led to what appeared to be a section of the wraparound porch.

“Bathroom’s right across the hall.” He opened the opposite door. “I don’t usually have guests, so there aren’t any towels in there. Let me grab some.”

Jessie stepped into the bathroom, impressed by the unexpected luxury. A glass-walled shower, marble-topped vanity, and elegant fixtures spoke of careful attention to detail. Like the rest of the house, it managed to be sophisticated without pretension.

Luke returned moments later with an armful of fluffy white towels and a bundle of clothes. “Towels,” he said unnecessarily, placing them on the vanity. “And something dry to change into. They’ll be too big, but they’re clean.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed her the clothes—a gray Coast Guard T-shirt and navy sweatpants. The brief contact sent an unwelcome jolt of awareness through her system.

“There should be a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet,” he added, taking a step back. “I’ll let you get cleaned up while I change and find us something to eat.”

“Thank you,” she managed, clutching the borrowed clothes like a shield.

He nodded once, then hesitated. “Jessie?—”

Whatever he’d been about to say remained unspoken. He shook his head slightly and retreated, closing the door behind him.

Jessie leaned against the vanity, her heart racing with an emotion she refused to name. The face that looked back at her from the mirror was a stranger’s—hair plastered to her skull, makeup smudged beneath her eyes, and that haunted expression she’d thought she’d left behind years ago.

The hot shower was blissful, washing away not just the chill of the rain but some of the tension she’d carried since stepping onto the ferry that morning. She scrubbed her skin with Luke’s soap—something with hints of sandalwood and citrus—and tried not to think about him using the same shower, the same soap.

When she emerged, wrapped in borrowed clothes that smelled faintly of fabric softener, she felt marginally more prepared to face whatever came next. The sweatpants required multiple rolls at the waist and ankles to keep from tripping her, and the T-shirt hung to mid-thigh. She finger-combed her short hair, wiped away the worst of her smudged makeup, and followed the scent of coffee and something deliciously savory to the kitchen.

Luke stood at the stove, his back to her. He’d changed into dry clothes—thin khaki shorts that had seen better days and a faded gray T-shirt with the Seeker’s Paradise logo and a garish pink flamingo stretched across the back. His damp hair curled against the nape of his neck, and Jessie’s fingers itched with the memory of how those curls had once felt twined around them.

“Perfect timing,” he said without turning around. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, reflected Luke’s practical nature while offering unexpected touches of luxury. Professional-grade appliances gleamed against subway tile backsplash. The island where she perched on a barstool featured a butcher-block surface worn smooth from use. Open shelving displayed a collection of mismatched mugs alongside elegant stemware.

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