Page 65 of When Summer Returns

A version that fit against Luke Mallory as perfectly as she always had.

It doesn’t grant what you ask for, but what you truly need. What your heart desires, not your head.

Jessie slipped from the rock into the shallow water at the basin’s edge, the heat immediately enveloping her calves in welcome. The familiar sensation transported her back to childhood visits, to innocent wishes for treasures and adventures before life had complicated such simple desires. The water urged her forward, each step taking her deeper until she stood waist-deep at the edge of the convergence zone.

Ahead, the visible line where hot and cold met created a slight disturbance on the surface, a rippling effect that marked the boundary between opposing forces. To reach it, she would need to swim, to commit fully to whatever revelation awaited.

Jessie took a deep breath and pushed off from the bottom, her body cutting cleanly through the water as muscle memory took over. The sensation shifted dramatically as she crossed into the colder stream—the shock of temperature difference sending her senses into momentary confusion before she adjusted. With measured strokes, she made her way to the precise center where hot and cold collided, treading water as she felt the bizarre sensation of her lower body in warmth while her upper half experienced the cool flow from the waterfall.

This was the place of power, according to island legend. The place where wishes became reality, where hearts’ desires were revealed and fulfilled. Floating at the convergence, Jessie closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist fully in the moment without judgment or expectation.

What does your heart truly desire?

The question arose from somewhere deep within her consciousness, not a voice but a feeling, a knowing. And with it came an answer that surprised her with its clarity and simplicity.

Home.

Not the sleek Savannah apartment filled with expensive furnishings but devoid of personal history. Not the corner office Winston had offered with its view of manicured city parks. But a place where she belonged completely—rooted in history yet free to grow. A place where community wasn’t a networking opportunity but a living fabric of interconnected lives. A place where every sunrise carried the promise of another day living in alignment with her truest self.

Seeker’s Island.

And with that realization came another, equally powerful and twice as terrifying—home wasn’t just a place. It was a person. Had always been a person, even when she’d convinced herself otherwise. Luke Mallory, with his steady presence and unwavering integrity, his quiet strength and unexpected vulnerability, had been the true north of her internal compass for as long as she could remember. Even during the fifteen years of their separation, she had unconsciously measured every relationship against what they had shared, finding each one wanting in comparison.

The clarity of these twin recognitions left her breathless, even as she continued to tread water at the spring’s center. How had she ever convinced herself that spreadsheets and market analyses could replace this feeling of absolute certainty? This bone-deep knowledge of where—and with whom—she belonged?

A splash from the shore broke her reverie. Jessie opened her eyes to find Luke standing at the water’s edge, surprise evident in his expression as he registered her presence in the spring.

“Jess?” He was still in his work clothes—faded shorts and the Seeker’s Paradise T-shirt, though he’d kicked off his shoes before approaching the water. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Neither did I, really.” She remained where she was, floating at the convergence point. “I just needed some space to think. The bar was getting crowded, and while I was walking along the beach, I felt almost…led here. Like my feet knew where I needed to go before my mind caught up.”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she recognized as one of his few nervous tells. “I thought the same thing. Too many people, too many questions.”

The afternoon sun caught the golden highlights in his hair, the same shade that had first captured her attention when they were children skipping rocks across this very spring. His face showed the evidence of passing years—lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight weathering that came from island living—yet beneath those changes remained the essential Luke she had always known. Solid. Trustworthy. Present in a way few people ever managed to be.

“Do you come here often?” she asked. “To the spring?”

“Not as much as I probably should.” He glanced around, taking in the unchanged landscape of this island sanctuary. “It’s the one place Benedict couldn’t touch. Everything else is broken or battered, but this—” He gestured to the basin surrounding them. “This is exactly the same.”

“Not everything,” she said. “Some things are stronger after the storm.”

His gaze returned to her, assessing the meaning behind her words. “Maybe. If their foundation was solid to begin with.”

The conversation felt layered with double meanings, each of them testing the waters both literally and figuratively. Jessie remained at the convergence point, treading water as she watched him standing at the edge.

“You should join me,” she called, a small smile playing at her lips. “I found the spot where the magic happens.”

Luke hesitated only a moment before nodding. With deliberate movements, he pulled his Seeker’s Paradise T-shirt over his head and dropped it beside his discarded shoes. His hands moved to the button of his shorts, and Jessie found herself holding her breath as he stripped down to his swim trunks—apparently he’d come prepared for the possibility of a swim, just as she had.

Years of physical work had sculpted his body into something more impressive than the boy she’d known—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, arms defined by lifting and carrying rather than gym machines. The afternoon sun gilded his skin, highlighting the scattered scars that told stories of island living—evidence of storms weathered, boats repaired, and a life fully lived.

He waded in without hesitation, accepting the spring’s embrace with the ease of someone returning to a familiar friend. Jessie watched his face as he navigated the temperature changes, the slight widening of his eyes when cold water met warm, the relaxation of his features as he adapted to the spring’s unique properties.

With strong, sure strokes, he swam toward her, closing the distance between them until they treaded water together at the convergence point, close enough that occasional movements caused their legs to brush beneath the surface.

“You were right,” he said, his voice low and intimate in the quiet sanctuary of the spring. “This is where the magic happens.”

Her hand found his beneath the water, fingers intertwining with familiar certainty. The contact sent warmth spiraling through her that had nothing to do with the spring’s temperature and everything to do with the man before her.

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