Page 68 of When Summer Returns

“Then that’s what you’ll have.” His arms tightened around her, solid and certain as the island beneath them. “That’s what we’ll have.”

The spring continued its eternal flow around them, hot meeting cold, opposites creating something new in their convergence. Above, the island sky stretched endless blue, hurricane season’s temporary fury giving way to the particular peace that followed survival. And between them, something stronger than island limestone formed—a foundation neither storm nor separation could ever again erode.

Whatever the spring had granted them in that moment—clarity or courage, past healing or future promise—remained their secret, shared only with the ancient waters that had borne witness to generations of island wishes. What mattered was the certainty they carried from the basin, the knowledge that whatever came next, they would face it together.

Hand in hand, they waded from the spring, water streaming from their skin like a baptism, a rebirth into a life reclaimed rather than abandoned. Behind them, the Lady’s gentle laugh might have echoed across the water—or perhaps it was just the ever-present island breeze, carrying the promise of tomorrow’s sunrise, of storms weathered and calm savored, of a love finally come home to stay.

“For the record,” Jessie said as they reached the shore, “I think your grandmother would be proud.”

Luke’s smile rivaled the island sunset for brilliance. “She’d have said it took us long enough.”

“Better late than never?” Jessie suggested, squeezing his hand.

“Better now than any other time,” he corrected, drawing her close once more. “Exactly when we were supposed to find each other again.”

The afternoon light warmed around them as they walked back toward the shore path, their footprints side by side in the damp sand. Behind them, the spring continued its eternal convergence of opposites, just as it had before they arrived and would long after they were gone. But something had shifted—in them, between them, around them—a realignment as subtle and profound as the island itself. Whatever tomorrow brought—repairs and rebuilding, challenges and celebrations—they would face it together on this small piece of land that had always been, and would always be, home.

EPILOGUE

Six monthsafter their wedding at Seeker’s Spring, Jessie stood at the polished teak bar of Seeker’s Point, watching the last of the sunset paint the ocean in strokes of amber and gold. The grand opening celebration of their hurricane-viewing bar had exceeded all expectations, transforming what had once been a prison of pain into a testament to new beginnings.

Where her father’s isolated house had once stood—that stronghold of shadows and fear—an airy structure of impact-resistant glass and island-sourced hardwoods now rose. Every architectural choice had been deliberate: open where the old house had been closed, welcoming where it had been forbidding, designed to embrace the ocean’s beauty rather than shut out the world.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Mallory,” Luke said, sliding an iced tea across the bar, his wedding band catching the last gleams of sunlight.

Jessie smiled, still not entirely used to the name despite the six months they’d been married. “Just thinking about transformation,” she replied, gesturing to the space around them. “If someone had told teenage me that one day this place would be filled with laughter…”

“She wouldn’t have believed it,” Luke finished, reaching across to squeeze her hand. “But here we are.”

The evening crowd mingled throughout the space—islanders and tourists alike drawn to the spectacular views and the island’s newest gathering spot. Behind the bar, Miguel expertly mixed drinks with his usual theatrical flair, while Tasha moved efficiently between tables, somehow managing to make everyone feel like a regular even if they’d just stepped off the ferry.

“Some things I couldn’t have predicted,” Jessie said, watching the crowd. “Like the fact that Reece Wells—the island’s most notorious teenage troublemaker—would be over there discussing security upgrades with the mayor.”

Luke chuckled, following her gaze to where Reece stood in deep conversation, his sheriff’s badge catching the light from the hurricane lanterns that illuminated the deck. “Or that he’d spend half his off-duty hours finding excuses to stop by the clinic to see Maggie.”

A distant rumble of thunder drew their attention to the horizon, where storm clouds gathered in dramatic formation over the water. The building around them had been designed specifically for this moment—to safely showcase nature’s wildest displays.

“First real storm viewing since we opened,” Luke noted with satisfaction. “Perfect timing.”

The bar had been their shared vision—a place where the island’s sometimes tempestuous weather became a feature rather than a threat. The reinforced glass walls, hurricane-rated roof, and elevated foundation ensured that even during serious storms, guests could experience the dramatic beauty from safety. The concept had raised eyebrows among the island’s more traditional residents but had quickly proven its appeal.

“Packed house and more arriving,” Jessie observed, surveying the buzzing crowd with satisfaction. “Looks like your hurricane-viewing concept is officially a success.”

“Our concept,” Luke corrected gently. “I had the idea, but you made it actually work.”

It was true. Luke’s understanding of island life and Jessie’s organizational talents had proven a perfect partnership—his connections securing local contractors despite post-hurricane demand, her meticulous attention to detail streamlining the permitting process that might otherwise have taken months longer. Together, they’d transformed a place of painful memories into a sanctuary that celebrated the island’s natural beauty.

Miguel approached with two glasses of sparkling water with lime on a tray. “Your usual, bosses,” he announced with his signature flair. “And Tasha says the kitchen can handle the extra crowd if the storm brings in more viewers.”

“Thanks, Miguel,” Luke said, accepting the drinks with an appreciative nod.

When Miguel returned to the bar, Jessie turned to find Luke watching her with warmth in his eyes. Their story had been fifteen years in the making—from teenagers discovering first love to adults who’d found their way back to each other despite everything that had tried to keep them apart.

Luke’s arm settled comfortably around her waist as they moved toward the glass wall that offered the best view of the approaching storm. Outside, the wind had begun to rise, bending palms and sending whitecaps dancing across the water’s surface. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating cloud formations in brief, spectacular bursts.

They’d chosen to build here—on this precise spot where her past had been darkest—as a deliberate act of reclamation. The day the demolition crew had arrived to tear down her father’s house had been cathartic, each falling wall revealing more light, more possibility. Together, they’d watched the structure crumble, hands clasped tightly, silent witnesses to the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another.

“Look,” Luke murmured, drawing her attention back to the present.

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