Page 9 of When Summer Returns

Jessie laughed despite herself. “Goodbye, Winston. Good luck with the Miyamoto deal.”

She ended the call feeling lighter than she had in months. The decision to walk away from her career had been impulsive by her standards—triggered by her father’s death and the unexpected inheritance, but fueled by years of growing dissatisfaction. The money she’d earned and carefully invested meant she could afford to take time. Perhaps more time than she’d initially planned.

Looking out the window, she noticed the rain had nearly stopped, though dark clouds still threatened on the horizon. Patches of blue sky appeared like promises above the ocean. The thought of spending the rest of the day alone in Luke’s house, surrounded by reminders of both their shared past and everything she’d missed, suddenly felt intolerable.

Decisively, Jessie opened her suitcase and selected a pair of flowing linen pants patterned with navy blue hibiscus flowers, pairing them with a loose navy tank top that suited the island heat. Practical rubber flip-flops replaced her ruined leather sandals. She applied minimal makeup, just enough to feel put-together, and ran a comb through her short hair.

The woman who gazed back from the mirror looked nothing like the polished financial advisor who’d left Savannah. This woman belonged on an island, with windswept hair and sun-kissed skin. This woman looked remarkably like the girl she’d once been, before fear and ambition had reshaped her.

The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

As Miguel had promised, her golf cart sat beneath the elevated house, protected from the elements. The seats were still damp, but Jessie hardly cared as she settled behind the wheel. Next to the golf cart, an old blue pickup truck was parked in the sheltered space—its faded paint and island dust suggesting it had weathered many storms beneath the protective pilings. The simple vehicles stood in stark contrast to the luxury sedans and rideshare services she’d grown accustomed to in her carefully structured life away from the island.

She followed the narrow road that wound along the coastline, away from the main part of the island where the hotel and most businesses clustered. Luke had chosen a location toward the southern tip of the island—a spot that offered spectacular ocean views but required visitors to make a deliberate journey to reach it. The remoteness had clearly done nothing to diminish its popularity.

Seeker’s Paradise came into view, its sprawling structure now fully visible in the clearing light. What had once been a ramshackle local bar frequented only by island residents had evolved into an impressive establishment that dominated this stretch of beach. The central building with its distinctive thatched roof extended into multiple open-air dining areas. A large wooden deck wrapped around three sides, dotted with at least two dozen tables, each with a brightly colored umbrella base. Two employees in Seeker’s Paradise T-shirts were busy reinstalling the umbrellas they’d removed during the storm, their movements efficient and practiced.

Stone pathways wound through tropical landscaping, connecting the main structure to several smaller tiki huts that offered more intimate dining spaces. The entire complex was designed to maximize ocean views while providing options for both sun worshippers and shade seekers. Strings of unlit fairy lights zigzagged overhead, promising a magical ambiance after sunset.

The parking area overflowed with golf carts and a few cars, confirming Miguel’s assessment of the lunch rush. At least thirty vehicles crowded the space, with more arriving as Jessie watched. She found a spot near the kitchen entrance and made her way around to the main area, taking in the scale of the operation Luke had built. This was no simple beach bar, but a full-fledged island destination—one that clearly employed a significant portion of the local workforce.

The bar buzzed with activity despite the lingering drizzle. Most of the screens had been raised to admit the fresh, rain-washed breeze. Every table appeared occupied, and the bar itself was lined with a mix of obvious tourists and what she recognized as island locals.

Luke moved through the space with easy authority, calling greetings to regulars while directing his staff with subtle gestures. He hadn’t noticed her yet, giving Jessie the opportunity to observe him undetected. He looked completely in his element—relaxed but alert, friendly but professional.

A young waitress approached, her bright smile genuine. “Welcome to Seeker’s Paradise. You can sit wherever you find an open table.”

Jessie nodded her thanks and slipped into an empty spot in the corner, content to watch the organized chaos unfold.

She glanced around at the mix of patrons—tourists in bright vacation wear, locals in well-worn T-shirts, and more than a few people who’d simply wandered in wearing nothing but bathing suits and flip-flops. After years of Savannah’s Southern propriety and New York’s fashion-conscious crowds, where she’d grown accustomed to tailored suits and business attire, the casual disregard for conventional dress codes felt both foreign and familiar. She’d forgotten how island life operated by different rules, where sandy feet and damp swimwear were perfectly acceptable restaurant attire.

Before Jessie could respond, a gravelly voice called from the next table.

“Good Lord above, if it ain’t little Jessie James, back from the dead.”

She turned to find Harlan Pickford, who had to be pushing ninety by now, his weathered face creased in a smile that revealed more gum than teeth. He’d been ancient when she was a child, perpetually stationed at the end of the pier with a fishing rod and a flask of something stronger than water.

“Hello, Mr. Pickford,” she said, genuinely pleased to see him still among the living. “It’s been a long time.”

“Fifteen years, four months, and—” he made a show of counting on gnarled fingers, “—seventeen days, give or take. Not that anyone was keeping track, mind you.”

Jessie laughed, the sound drawing attention from nearby tables. “I’m flattered you noticed my absence.”

“Hard not to notice when the prettiest girl on the island disappears without a word.” His rheumy eyes twinkled. “Broke a lot of hearts around here.”

As if conjured by her thoughts, Luke appeared at her table, his expression carefully neutral. “I see you’ve found your way back to civilization.”

“The rain let up,” she offered unnecessarily. “And I thought I should see what all the fuss is about. Miguel says you run quite the operation.”

“Miguel talks too much.” But there was fondness in his tone.

“Mallory,” Harlan called. “Buy this pretty lady a proper drink to welcome her home. My treat.”

Luke’s gaze met hers, a question in the blue depths.

“Pineapple juice is fine,” she said firmly.

“Let me get that,” a sunburned man at the bar interjected, clearly a tourist looking to make an impression. “And something stronger to go with it. Vacation’s no time for fruit juice, sweetheart.”

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