Page 17 of When Summer Returns

“Seriously, though,” he continued after a moment. “Investment management. Sounds impressive.”

Jessie shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “It paid the bills. But bartending is definitely more physically demanding than I expected.”

“Wall Street to beach bar. Quite the career change.” His tone was light, but his eyes were curious.

“Savannah, mostly. Though I spent time in New York for work.” She sipped her water. “The firm I worked for handled high net worth clients along the Eastern Seaboard.

“Spreadsheets can be brutal,” she added with a smile. “Paper cuts. Carpal tunnel. The existential despair of quarterly projections.”

Luke laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Poor baby. Forced to calculate other people’s millions while wearing air-conditioning and sensible pumps.”

“The oppression was real,” she assured him solemnly. “Sometimes the coffee machine would run out before ten a.m.”

“The horror.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “How did you survive?”

“Sheer determination and an emergency chocolate stash.” She smiled, enjoying the moment of lighthearted connection. “But I will concede that my feet hurt in places I didn’t know had nerve endings.”

“Welcome to the service industry.” Luke gestured toward her nearly empty plate. “Think you can handle another shift, or has reality crushed your enthusiasm?”

The question contained a challenge beneath its casual delivery. Jessie met his gaze directly, recognizing the test for what it was.

“I’ll be here at five,” she said. “Though I might need better shoes, as Tasha so kindly pointed out.”

“There’s a shop at the hotel that carries decent work shoes. Nothing fancy, but they’ll save your arches.” He collected their empty plates, the gesture automatic. “You did good today, Jess. Better than I expected.”

The simple praise warmed her more than it should have. “Thanks for giving me a chance to try.”

“You own half the place,” he reminded her. “But credit where it’s due—you jumped in without complaining. That matters to the staff.”

He disappeared into the kitchen with their dishes, leaving Jessie to contemplate the peculiar satisfaction of having exceeded his expectations. It shouldn’t matter what Luke Mallory thought of her work ethic—she’d proven herself in boardrooms across the Southeast, built a reputation that commanded respect in a male-dominated industry.

Yet his approval carried weight she wasn’t quite ready to examine.

Miguel reappeared behind the bar, gesturing for her to join him. “Ready for lesson two? We need to prep for tonight’s service.”

Jessie rose, muscles protesting the movement after too-brief respite. “Lead on, sensei.”

The afternoon passed in a rhythm of preparation—cutting fresh garnishes, restocking bottles, cleaning equipment, and learning the specialized cocktails that featured on Seeker’s Paradise’s evening menu. Miguel proved an entertaining instructor, peppering practical advice with outlandish stories from his bartending adventures.

“And that’s why we never, ever serve flaming shots to anyone wearing synthetic fabrics,” he concluded one particularly harrowing tale. “No matter how much they beg.”

“Noted,” Jessie said, filing away yet another unwritten rule of bar service. “Any other potentially fatal drink combinations I should know about?”

“Just remember: Tequila and karaoke are natural enemies, but will inevitably find each other. Your job is to limit the collateral damage.”

By four thirty, she’d absorbed enough information to make her head spin, but felt marginally more prepared for the evening ahead. When Luke suggested she take a break before dinner service began, Jessie gratefully accepted the opportunity to rest her feet and clear her mind.

She found a quiet spot on the covered deck that extended over the beach, settling into an Adirondack chair with a glass of iced tea. From this vantage point, she could appreciate how strategically the structure had been positioned—offering panoramic ocean views while catching prevailing breezes that moderated the island heat.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her contemplation. Luke appeared, carrying his own glass of tea, his expression questioning. “Mind some company?”

“It’s your deck,” she said, gesturing toward the adjacent chair.

“Technically, it’s our deck now.” He sat, stretching his long legs before him. “For however long that arrangement lasts.”

The reminder of her temporary status hung between them. Jessie sipped her tea, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

“I never expected him to leave me anything,” she said finally. “We hadn’t spoken in fifteen years.”

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