When Summer Returns

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Generator power had its own soundtrack—a persistent mechanical hum punctuated by occasional sputters that Luke had learned to interpret like a second language. The steady rhythm now meant all systems functioning, the slight catch every twentieth cycle merely a quirk rather than a warning. After four days of hurricane recovery, he found the sound oddly comforting—a reminder that Seeker’s Paradise had survived yet another island baptism.

Morning sun filtered through the newly repaired thatched roof, casting dappled patterns across the bar’s polished surface. The space looked almost normal, which had required near-heroic efforts from his staff over the past seventy-two hours. Broken glass swept away, salt-crusted surfaces scrubbed clean, toppled furniture righted and repaired. The hurricane shutters remained partially deployed on the ocean side where Benedict’s fury had been most concentrated, but the rest of the structure had been opened to catch the island’s healing breezes.

Luke surveyed his domain with the practiced eye of ownership, noting the small imperfections invisible to casual observers but glaringly obvious to him—the slightly crooked sign behind the bar, the patch of mismatched thatch above table seven, the hairline crack in the corner support post that would need proper attention when real supplies arrived from the mainland. For now, Seeker’s Paradise stood ready to serve its most essential function: island gathering place.

“You realize we’re the only place on the eastern half of the island with ice, right?” Miguel commented, hauling another bag from the walk-in freezer. The young bartender’s perpetual energy seemed undiminished by days of disaster recovery. “We could charge five bucks a cube and make a fortune.”

“We’re not price gouging our neighbors,” Luke replied, though his mouth quirked at the suggestion.

“It’s not gouging, it’s hurricane capitalism.” Miguel dumped the ice into the well with dramatic flair. “Supply and demand, boss.”

“Supply and decency,” Luke countered. “The day we profit from people’s misfortunes is the day I sell this place to the resort developers.”

“You’ve been turning those guys down for what, five years now?”

“Seven. And counting.”

Jessie’s entrance from the kitchen momentarily stalled the conversation. She carried a tray of clean glasses with the careful concentration of someone still learning the rhythm of bar work. Her loose tank top and practical shorts showed evidence of the morning’s labor—a smudge of something dark across one shoulder, damp patches where she’d splashed herself filling water containers. The hurricane had stripped away her city polish, leaving behind something more essential that Luke found increasingly difficult to look away from.

“The water pressure’s improving,” she announced, setting down the tray. “I actually managed hot water for these last ones.”

“Progress,” Luke agreed. “Maybe we’ll have actual running water by next week.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” She reached for a towel, wiping condensation from her hands. “Mateo says the food delivery managed to get through. Limited menu, but at least we won’t be serving peanut butter sandwiches again.”

“Those were gourmet peanut butter sandwiches,” Miguel protested, hand to heart in mock offense. “I personally selected the finest hurricane rations available.”

“The crusts were soggy,” Jessie pointed out.

“Rustic style.”

“The jelly was questionable.”

“Artisanal preserves.”

She laughed, the sound warming something in Luke’s chest that had nothing to do with the rising island temperature. Her integration into their small team had progressed with surprising speed, especially during the crisis response. She moved differently now—with more confidence in the physical space, as if her body were remembering island rhythms long forgotten.

The past four days had established a tentative partnership between them that went beyond business arrangements or their nights together. They’d worked in tandem through the worst of the cleanup, anticipating each other’s needs with an efficiency that felt both new and achingly familiar. By unspoken agreement, they’d focused on immediate recovery needs, leaving deeper conversations for when the crisis had passed.

Which appeared to be approximately now, judging by the arrival of Theodore Abernathy at the bar’s entrance. The island’s only lawyer navigated the still-damp floor with careful steps, his wiry frame seeming frailer than Luke remembered. Benedict hadn’t been kind to the older buildings on the island, and Abernathy’s office—a converted Victorian at the island’s center—had lost half its roof to the storm.

“Miss James,” Abernathy called, waving a leather portfolio that had seen better days. “I was told I might find you here.”

Jessie wiped her hands on a bar towel, surprise evident in her expression. “Mr. Abernathy. I didn’t expect to see you until things were more…settled.”

“I’m afraid the legal wheels turn regardless of weather events.” He glanced around the bar with evident appreciation. “You’ve managed quite the recovery here. The only functioning establishment on this side of the island, I believe.”

“Luke’s generator priorities,” Jessie said, with a nod toward him. “Beer refrigeration before air-conditioning.”

“Island necessities,” Luke said with a shrug. “People need normalcy after a storm like Benedict.”

“Indeed they do.” Abernathy placed his portfolio on the nearest dry surface. “Which is partly why I’ve made the effort to find you, Miss James. There are matters regarding your father’s estate that require timely attention, hurricane notwithstanding.”

Luke caught the subtle tensing of Jessie’s shoulders at the mention of her father. In their nights together, she’d shared more about Jesse James’s abuse, each revelation making Luke wish the man were still alive so he could personally introduce him to the business end of a fishing gaff.

“I thought that might wait until the island was back on its feet,” Jessie replied, her professional mask sliding into place with practiced ease.

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps.” Abernathy adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, a nervous tic Luke remembered from previous encounters. “However, your father included certain time-sensitive provisions that I’m obligated to address within thirty days of his passing. The hurricane has already delayed matters considerably.”

Miguel, ever sensitive to emotional undertones despite his jovial exterior, slid a glass of iced tea toward Abernathy. “On the house, counselor. You’re welcome to use the corner booth for your business. Quietest spot in the place, especially before the lunch crowd arrives.”

Abernathy accepted the drink with a grateful nod. “Most kind. Miss James, shall we?”

Jessie glanced at Luke, a silent question in her eyes. He nodded slightly. “Go ahead. Miguel and I can handle setup.”

She followed Abernathy to the secluded booth, their heads soon bent over papers spread across the scarred wooden surface. Even from a distance, Luke could read the tension in her posture—the slight rigidity in her spine, the careful way she held herself apart from the documents as if they might somehow contaminate her.

“Twenty bucks says old Jesse left some nasty surprise in the will,” Miguel murmured, methodically slicing limes for the day’s service. “That man never did anything straight if he could do it crooked.”

“Not a bet I’d take,” Luke agreed, keeping his voice low. “The real question is whether it’s just typical Jesse James manipulation or something worse.”

“Define worse.”

“With Jesse? Hard to say.” Luke’s jaw tightened as he watched Jessie’s expression shift from neutral to surprised to something approaching dismay. “Man had a gift for finding people’s weak spots.”

“Present company especially,” Miguel observed with uncharacteristic directness. “You sure you’re okay with all this? Her being back, being part owner?”

The question deserved more consideration than Luke had given it. The hurricane had rushed by in a blur of preparation, survival, and recovery, leaving little time for examining the fundamental shift in his life’s trajectory. Jessie James had returned to Seeker’s Island. She was now his business partner. And somehow, she was back in his bed. None of which he’d imagined possible a month ago.

“I’m getting there,” he answered honestly. “It’s complicated.”

“Relationships usually are,” Miguel said with the sage wisdom of someone who’d never maintained one longer than a season. “But hurricane romance? That’s some serious movie-of-the-week material right there.”

“It’s not a hurricane romance,” Luke protested automatically.

“No? Let’s see—beautiful woman returns after years away, hurricane forces you together, passion ignites amid disaster.” Miguel ticked off points on his fingers. “Pretty sure I saw that on the Lifetime channel last Christmas.”

“Don’t you have inventory to check?”

“Already done. Which leaves me plenty of time to provide relationship counseling. My second profession, you know.”

“Your second profession is professional annoyance,” Luke retorted, though without heat.

“It’s a gift,” Miguel agreed cheerfully. “Speaking of which, incoming at two o’clock. Looks like we’ve got company.”

Luke turned to find Reece navigating the threshold, his sheriff’s uniform dusty from the morning’s recovery efforts. Dark circles beneath his eyes testified to the sleepless nights every first responder had endured since Benedict’s arrival, yet he moved with the same controlled energy that had made him a natural leader during the crisis.

“Please tell me you’ve got real coffee,” Reece said by way of greeting, sliding onto a barstool with a stifled groan.

“Freshly brewed from our emergency reserves,” Luke confirmed, already pouring a mug. “Though I can’t vouch for the quality. It’s Miguel’s cousin’s boyfriend’s uncle’s special import.”

“So potentially lethal but definitely caffeinated?”

“Exactly.”

Reece accepted the steaming mug with evident gratitude. “Latest update from the mainland—power restoration still at least four days out for most of the island. They’re prioritizing the medical center and water treatment plant.”

“Makes sense,” Luke agreed. “We can manage with generators for a while longer.”

“Easy for you to say. You actually have a functioning generator.” Reece took a long swallow of coffee, then winced. “Though this coffee might be worse than no coffee.”

“Beggars, choosers, et cetera,” Miguel sing-songed, sliding a plate of banana bread toward the sheriff. “Calm your caffeine desperation with carbs.”

Reece’s gaze drifted to the corner booth where Jessie and Abernathy remained deep in conversation. “Estate business?”

“Looks that way,” Luke replied, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “Apparently there are time-sensitive matters that couldn’t wait for basic island services to be restored.”

“Jesse James, ensuring he’s a pain in the ass from beyond the grave.” Reece shook his head. “That man had a gift.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Before the conversation could continue, the bar’s phone—one of the few landlines still functioning on the island—rang with the particular jangle that indicated an off-island call. Miguel reached for it with his usual flourish.

“Seeker’s Paradise, where heaven meets hurricane recovery. This is Miguel, how may I direct your paradise experience?”

Luke rolled his eyes at the greeting, though he had long since given up trying to enforce phone protocol. Miguel’s unique customer service approach had become something of an island trademark, particularly with repeat visitors who called ahead to reserve tables.

“Yes, she is,” Miguel was saying, his eyebrows rising in interest. “May I ask who’s calling? I see. And this would be regarding? Hmm. Very interesting.”

Luke watched as Miguel’s expression shifted from casual curiosity to something more calculating, his gaze sliding to where Jessie sat still engaged with Abernathy.

“One moment, please,” Miguel said with exaggerated professionalism, pressing the hold button. He turned to Luke with barely contained excitement. “It’s for Jessie. Some guy named Winston Hadley from Hammond, Prescott & Associates in Savannah. Says it’s urgent business regarding a partnership offer and a—” he lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper, “—corporate jet waiting on the mainland.”

Luke felt something cold settle in his stomach. Corporate job. Mainland career. The reality of Jessie’s other life—the successful, polished existence she’d built far from Seeker’s Island—suddenly materialized in the form of a phone call. He’d known, of course, that she had a life beyond the island. But the past days of hurricane recovery had created a bubble where those external realities seemed distant and theoretical.

“Tell him she’s in a meeting,” he found himself saying. “Take a message.”

“Ah, the classic avoidance strategy,” Miguel nodded sagely. “Effective but ultimately futile.”

“She’s literally in a meeting,” Luke pointed out, gesturing toward the corner booth.

“True, but this isn’t just any call. This is the ‘your fancy corporate career needs you right now’ call.” Miguel’s expression turned surprisingly serious. “You sure you want to be the one making that decision for her?”

The question landed with unexpected weight. Did he have the right to intercept a call that might significantly impact Jessie’s career? The instinct to protect what they’d begun building these past days warred with his deeper desire for her happiness—whatever form that might take.

“Fine,” Luke conceded. “Let her know. But don’t make a whole production out of it.”

Miguel’s expression suggested that making a production was exactly what he intended. He sauntered toward Jessie’s table with the cordless phone, clearing his throat for maximum attention.

“Excuse me, Miss Island Heiress,” he announced, interrupting the legal conversation with practiced nonchalance. “There’s a rather urgent call for you from the mainland. A Mr. Winston Hadley of Hammond, Prescott & Associates. He mentioned something about a partnership offer and—” he paused dramatically, “—a corporate jet currently idling its very expensive engines while awaiting your response.”

Every head in the bar turned toward their corner. Island life fed on this kind of drama, and Miguel had just served up a five-course meal. Jessie’s expression flashed from surprise to something approaching embarrassment before settling into careful neutrality.

“I’m in the middle of something, Miguel,” she said, gesturing to the papers spread across the table.

“I told him that,” Miguel agreed cheerfully. “But he was most insistent. Something about billion-dollar mergers crumbling without your magical touch? I may have embellished that part slightly.”

Theodore Abernathy coughed discreetly. “Perhaps we should pause here, Miss James. These corporate matters may require your immediate attention, whereas the estate documents will still be waiting when you’re finished.”

The entire bar seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Jessie’s response. Luke could practically feel the collective curiosity radiating from the handful of island regulars who had stopped mid-conversation to witness the unfolding drama.

Jessie glanced from the phone to the papers to Luke, something complicated flickering in her expression. Then, with deliberate calm, she addressed Miguel.

“Please tell Mr. Hadley that I’m currently handling my father’s estate matters and will return his call when I’ve finished. If it’s truly urgent, he can email the details.”

Miguel’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not having anticipated this response. “You sure? He seemed pretty worked up. Lots of important-sounding words and heavy breathing.”

“I’m sure,” she confirmed, turning back to Abernathy. “Now where were we?”

The collective audience, denied their expected drama, gradually returned to their own conversations, though with the distinct air of people keeping one ear tuned to the corner booth. Luke found himself releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Whatever Jessie’s ultimate decision might be, she’d just chosen the island’s business over the mainland’s demands—at least for the moment.

Miguel returned to the bar, phone in hand. “She just put a corporate big shot on hold to deal with island paperwork,” he muttered, sounding impressed despite himself. “Did not see that coming.”

“Jessie’s full of surprises,” Luke agreed, feeling a complicated mix of relief and concern. He watched as she resumed her conversation with Abernathy, her expression once again focused on whatever complexities her father’s will presented.

In the booth, Jessie stared at the document before her, its legal language a stark contrast to the emotional weight it carried. “I don’t understand. Why would he do this?”

Abernathy removed his wire-rimmed glasses, polishing them methodically. “Your father made these arrangements approximately six months before his passing. He was quite specific about the timing and conditions.”

“But why leave me half the bar at all? We hadn’t spoken in fifteen years.” The question that had burned in her since learning of her inheritance finally voiced aloud.

Abernathy hesitated, then reached into his portfolio and extracted a sealed envelope. “He anticipated your question. This was to be delivered along with the formal documentation.”

The envelope felt impossibly heavy in her hands. Her name written in her father’s distinctive slanted script—the same handwriting that had signed her school permission slips and, later, left threatening notes when she disobeyed his rules.

“I’ll give you privacy,” Abernathy said, rising with practiced discretion.

When she was alone, Jessie opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

Jessie,

If you’re reading this, I’m gone, and you’ve returned to claim what’s yours. I expect you’re wondering why I’ve left you half of Seeker’s Paradise after everything. The truth is simple and complicated all at once.

I watched what Luke Mallory built with that place. Watched him pour his heart and soul into making something that matters to this island. Something I couldn’t destroy no matter how hard I tried.

I’ve had a lot of time these past years to think about all I broke that couldn’t be fixed. Your mother. You. Myself. The drinking didn’t help with the thinking, but the cancer forced sobriety on me at the end.

I don’t expect forgiveness. Don’t even want it. Some things go beyond forgiving. But I know you, girl. Always have. You’ve got the island in your blood whether you want it or not. And I know something else—you were always strongest when you stood beside Luke Mallory.

Consider this my last manipulation if you want. Or consider it the one decent thing I managed. Either way, the choice of what to do with it is yours now. Something I should have given you a long time ago.

—Jesse

Jessie read the letter twice, then a third time, searching for hidden cruelty or manipulation beneath the surprising clarity. It offered no explicit apology, yet contained something that felt dangerously close to regret. A recognition, however belated, of all he had destroyed.

Her father had known—perhaps before she did—that the island would always call her back. That Luke would always be the magnetic north to her internal compass. His final act had been to create a situation that would force her to confront both truths.

When Abernathy returned, she carefully folded the letter and placed it in her pocket.

“He knew I’d come back,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “He was forcing a confrontation he wouldn’t be around to witness.”

“Your father was…complex,” Abernathy offered diplomatically. “But in his final months, he seemed determined to put certain affairs in order. This partnership arrangement was particularly important to him.”

“Did he know about Luke and me? From before?”

“He never spoke of it directly. But there was a certain…understanding in his instructions.”

Jessie nodded, pieces falling into place. “What are the provisions you mentioned? The time-sensitive ones?”

Abernathy turned to the formal documents spread between them. “That’s where things get interesting. Your father stipulated that for the first year following his death, neither owner can sell their share of the business to anyone except the other partner. After that, you’d be free to sell to outside interests. The stipulation expires in exactly thirty days.”

Jessie’s breath caught as understanding dawned. “So I have one month to decide whether to sell my share to Luke or commit to the partnership for at least a year.”

“Precisely.” Abernathy adjusted his glasses. “And there’s one more condition. The selling price between partners during this initial window is set at significantly below market value—essentially what your father paid when they first established the business.”

“He was giving Luke a chance to buy me out cheaply.” The realization settled like a stone. “Or…”

“Or giving you both an incentive to work together, at least for a time,” Abernathy finished for her. “As I said, your father was…complex in his motivations.”

Jessie looked down at the documents, seeing beyond the legal language to the emotional chessboard her father had constructed. Even from the grave, he was maneuvering them into position. Yet beneath the manipulation lay something that almost resembled hope—a tarnished, twisted version, perhaps, but hope nonetheless. That she might find what she needed where she’d left it behind.

“I’ll need time to consider all this,” she said finally.

“Of course.” Abernathy began gathering the documents. “But not too much time. The thirty-day window is quite firm.”

As Jessie prepared to leave, she felt the weight of her father’s letter in her pocket. His final communication was neither absolution nor further cruelty, but something messier and more human—a flawed man’s acknowledgment of a truth he’d spent years denying: that some connections couldn’t be severed, no matter how hard he’d tried.

“So,” Miguel said, leaning against the bar with calculated casualness. “Corporate partnerships. Jets on standby. Seems like island bar ownership might have some stiff competition.”

Luke chose not to engage with the bait, focusing instead on restocking the cooler. “The island’s not for everyone.”

“True. But everyone’s not Jessie James.” Miguel nodded toward the corner booth. “From where I’m standing, she fits back in here like she never left.”

The observation hit uncomfortably close to Luke’s own thoughts. Despite fifteen years away, Jessie had adapted to island life with surprising speed—pitching in during the hurricane preparations, working tirelessly during recovery, developing easy rapport with his staff. She approached each new task with the same determined competence she’d shown as a teenager, though now tempered with the confidence of adulthood.

“Fitting in and staying are different things,” Luke finally replied.

“Indeed they are,” Miguel agreed with unexpected solemnity. “Indeed they are.”

The morning progressed with the controlled chaos typical of post-hurricane operations. Limited power meant creative solutions for everything from food preparation to credit card processing. The water situation remained precarious, with the municipal system functioning at minimal capacity, requiring careful rationing and frequent trips to refill containers from the island’s emergency supply stations.

Through it all, Jessie remained closeted with Abernathy, their conversation occasionally animated enough to draw curious glances but never quite loud enough for eavesdropping. Luke deliberately kept his distance, focusing instead on the practical matters of running the only functioning restaurant on the eastern shore.

By late morning, the bar had filled with a mix of islanders seeking hot food, cold drinks, and working bathrooms. The atmosphere hummed with the particular camaraderie disaster tended to foster—neighbors checking on neighbors, sharing resources and information, finding humor in the shared inconveniences of recovery.

“Any news on the north road?” Luke asked Reece, who had remained at the bar despite having finished both coffee and banana bread.

“Still underwater at the low point,” Reece replied. “Might be passable by tomorrow if the drainage system starts functioning again. Right now we’re routing everyone around through the eastern access.”

“That explains the lunchtime crowd.” Luke gestured to the steadily filling tables. “We’re the only stop between the southern ferry and the northern residences.”

“Free enterprise at its finest,” Reece agreed. “Though I did see Margie trying to get the diner generator working. If she succeeds, you might have competition.”

“I welcome it. We’re running low on supplies, and Mateo’s about to stage a culinary revolt if he has to make another batch of hurricane chili.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Maggie, looking as if she’d slept even less than Reece. Her normally immaculate blond hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, her scrubs rumpled beneath a light jacket.

“Please tell me you have coffee,” she said without preamble, sliding onto the stool beside Reece. “The clinic’s generator is prioritizing refrigeration for medications, which means the staff breakroom is running on prayers and profanity.”

“We’ve got coffee,” Luke confirmed, already pouring. “Though the quality is questionable.”

“I’d drink motor oil at this point,” she replied, accepting the mug with grateful hands. “Forty-eight hours of generator power is not conducive to proper medical care, especially with the influx of post-hurricane injuries.”

“Anything serious?” Reece asked, professional concern evident in his tone.

“Mostly lacerations from cleanup, a few cases of heat exhaustion, one suspected broken arm I had to send to the mainland.” She sipped the coffee with a grimace that suggested Luke’s quality assessment had been accurate. “And of course, the usual medication management issues when people evacuate without their prescriptions.”

“Islands and hurricanes,” Luke said sympathetically. “Not always the most compatible pairing.”

“Speaking of pairings.” Maggie nodded toward the corner booth, where Jessie and Abernathy appeared to be concluding their business. “How’s that going?”

Luke chose his words carefully, aware of both the public setting and his own conflicted feelings. “It’s going.”

“Eloquent,” she teased. “Very descriptive.”

“What Luke means,” Miguel interjected, sliding a plate of surprisingly fresh-looking fruit beside Maggie’s coffee, “is that romance blooms even amid hurricane debris, but may be threatened by corporate sirens calling from the mainland.”

“Miguel,” Luke warned.

“What? It’s not gossip if it’s obvious to everyone with eyes.” Miguel gestured broadly to the bar at large. “The entire island is invested in this romantic subplot. We have very little entertainment since the power went out.”

Before Luke could formulate a suitably devastating response, Jessie approached the bar, her expression unreadable after the extended consultation with Abernathy. The lawyer followed a few steps behind, his portfolio once again neatly secured.

“Everything okay?” Luke asked, studying her face for clues.

“Define okay,” she replied, her attempt at lightness not quite reaching her eyes. “The legal wheels are turning. Apparently my father’s estate is more complicated than expected.”

“Jesse James, making things difficult? I’m shocked,” Reece commented dryly.

Jessie’s mouth quirked in acknowledgment. “He did have a particular talent.”

Abernathy cleared his throat. “Miss James, I’ll have those additional documents drawn up as we discussed. Given the state of my office, it may take a few extra days, but I should have everything ready by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Mr. Abernathy. I appreciate your efforts, especially under these conditions.”

The lawyer nodded, gathering his things with methodical precision. “Sheriff, I understand the community center will be distributing emergency supplies again this afternoon?”

“Starting at two,” Reece confirmed. “FEMA finally got additional pallets through on the morning ferry.”

“Excellent. Mrs. Abernathy will be pleased to hear it. We’re running perilously low on certain necessities.” With that oblique reference to personal matters, Abernathy took his leave, navigating between tables with careful dignity.

The moment he exited, Miguel leaned forward with undisguised curiosity. “So? Did old Jesse leave you a pirate map to hidden treasure? A confession to island crimes? A surprise illegitimate sibling?”

“Miguel,” Luke and Maggie said simultaneously.

“What? We’re all thinking it.” Miguel gestured to the bar at large. “The man was Seeker’s Island’s most reliable source of drama for decades. His will is bound to be entertaining at minimum.”

Jessie’s laugh held more genuine amusement than Luke had expected given the circumstances. “No treasure maps, I’m afraid. Though the rest…” She shook her head. “Let’s just say my father managed to complicate things even from beyond the grave.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Luke asked, keeping his tone neutral despite his concern.

“Not yet.” She glanced at the clock above the bar. “Though I should probably return that call from Winston before he sends a search party. Is the landline still working?”

“For now. You can use the office if you want privacy.” Luke gestured toward the small room off the kitchen that served as Seeker’s Paradise’s administrative headquarters.

“Thanks. I won’t be long.” She started toward the office, then paused. “Miguel, what exactly did Winston say when he called?”

Miguel’s expression turned unexpectedly sheepish. “I may have exaggerated slightly for dramatic effect. He did mention a partnership offer, but the corporate jet was my creative interpretation of his urgency.”

Rather than seeming annoyed, Jessie appeared relieved. “Good to know. Though with Winston, a corporate jet isn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.”

She disappeared into the office, leaving the small group at the bar to exchange glances laden with unspoken questions.

“Corporate partnerships and jets,” Maggie murmured. “Sounds like someone has options beyond our humble island.”

“Everyone has options,” Luke replied, keeping his tone deliberately even. “It’s about what matters most when making the choice.”

“Deep philosophy from the bartender,” Reece observed. “Next you’ll be telling us that home is where the heart is.”

“More like home is where the generator keeps the beer cold,” Miguel corrected. “Let’s not get too existential before noon.”

The banter continued, but Luke found his attention drawn repeatedly to the closed office door. Behind it, Jessie was navigating whatever complex career opportunity awaited her on the mainland—a life he knew little about beyond the broad outlines she’d shared. Finance. Success. Achievement. Words that described a world far removed from Seeker’s Island and the life he’d built here.

“She’ll make the right choice,” Maggie said quietly, having shifted down the bar to stand beside him while Reece and Miguel debated the merits of various emergency generators. “For her.”

“I know,” Luke agreed, though uncertainty lingered beneath his confident tone. “That’s what matters.”

“Is it?” Her perceptive gaze studied his profile. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re preparing yourself for her departure rather than considering she might actually choose to stay.”

The observation struck uncomfortably close to his private fears. “I’m being realistic. Her life is over there. Her career. Everything she’s built for fifteen years.”

“People rebuild all the time,” Maggie countered. “Sometimes in unexpected places.”

Before Luke could respond, Jessie emerged from the office, her expression thoughtful but not distressed. She approached the bar with measured steps, accepting the glass of water Miguel slid toward her without commentary.

“Everything okay with the mainland?” Luke asked, unable to fully disguise his concern.

“Complicated,” she replied, echoing her assessment of her father’s estate. “There’s a situation with a merger that apparently only I can resolve. Winston’s quite insistent.”

“When do you leave?” The question slipped out before Luke could reconsider its implications.

Jessie studied him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “I told him I need time. There are matters here that require my attention first.”

Relief and apprehension warred within Luke’s chest—relief that she wasn’t immediately departing, apprehension about what her eventual decision might be. “The estate stuff?”

“Partly.” She sipped her water, organizing her thoughts. “But also the bar. My father’s will contained some unexpected provisions regarding Seeker’s Paradise.”

Interest rippled through their small audience. Even Maggie and Reece leaned in slightly, island curiosity overriding professional distance.

“What kind of provisions?” Luke asked carefully.

“The complicated kind,” Jessie replied, offering a rueful smile. “I need some time to process everything before we discuss it. Mr. Abernathy’s drawing up the formal documents, but the gist is that my father left specific instructions about how his ownership stake should be managed.”

“Classic Jesse,” Reece muttered. “Controlling from beyond the grave.”

“Something like that,” she agreed. “But there’s more to it than I initially thought. I just need some space to think everything through.” She glanced around the increasingly crowded bar. “Preferably somewhere quiet.”

“Quiet is in short supply these days,” Luke observed. “Between generators and chainsaws, the island sounds like a construction zone.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze with newfound resolution. “I won’t be long. I just need to clear my head.”

“Take whatever time you need,” he said, understanding her need for space. “The bar will be here when you get back.”

The real question—the one neither of them voiced—was whether she would be coming back to simply finish what they’d started or to begin something entirely new.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, the simple farewell somehow feeling like a promise rather than a platitude.

As she walked away, slipping out the beachside exit and pausing only to remove her sandals before her bare feet hit the sand, Luke found himself hoping that Miguel’s assessment was correct. That what Jessie had found on Seeker’s Island—in the bar, in the community, in him—was indeed something she hadn’t known she was missing. Something worth choosing over corporate partnerships and mainland success.

The tide was rising, washing away footprints almost as quickly as they were made. Whether Jessie’s path would lead her back to him or away to the mainland remained to be seen. For now, all Luke could do was what islanders had always done in the face of uncertainty—continue rebuilding, one moment at a time, and trust that when the waters settled, what mattered most would remain.