Page 24 of Key West Promises

She broke off as movement near the small stage caught her attention. A man was settling onto the stool, guitar in hand. Tess found herself pausing in her work, drawn to something in his presence.

He looked to be in his forties, his dark brown hair just starting to silver at the edges, wearing a faded button-down with rolled sleeves that somehow made him look perfectly at home. His fingers moved over the guitar strings with the kind of familiarity that spoke of years of practice.

"Who's that?" Tess asked, unable to look away as he began tuning his guitar. The way his hands moved over the instrument made her think of stories waiting to be told.

Leah followed her gaze, then smiled slightly, the first real smile Tess had seen from her since Kaitlyn's confession. "Jameson Carter. Jamie. Connie said he used to be a regular performer here until…" She hesitated, lowering her voice. "Until his wife passed. He owns the restaurant Harbor Lights, that seafood place on Whitehead."

"The good one with the key lime pie I love?" Tess asked, remembering one of their failed attempts to network with local restaurants. Their 'Island Catering' business cards were still stuffed in a drawer somewhere, another dream that hadn't quite found its footing.

"That's the one. This is the first I’ve heard him play." Leah's expression turned thoughtful. "Connie says he used to write his own music. Love songs mostly. But after Emma—his wife—died ten years ago, he just…stopped. Packed away his guitar and focused on the restaurant."

"Ten years is a long time to stay silent," Tess mused, watching as he adjusted the microphone.

"It certainly is sad," Leah replied.

Before Tess could respond, Jamie's voice filled the bar, deep and rich as he addressed the crowd. "All right, folks. It's been a while, so go easy on me."

The regulars responded with warm encouragement—these weren't the usual tourist crowds looking for Jimmy Buffett covers. These were the people who remembered him from before, who had watched his story unfold over years of Wednesday nights. Some even put down their phones, giving him their full attention—a rare sight in any bar these days.

Then he began to play, and Tess felt something shift in her body as his voice wrapped around the bluesy melody. It wasn't just skill—though he had plenty of that. It was emotion, raw and real, the kind that made you feel less alone with your own complicated feelings. She recognized the song—an old Tom Waits number about love and loss and finding your way home.

"Speaking of time healing all wounds," Leah said quietly, but Tess barely heard her. She was caught in the way Jamie lost himself in the music, in how his fingers moved over the strings like they were having a conversation only he could hear. There was something about a man willing to be vulnerable in public that made her breath catch.

When the song ended, the applause was genuine and warm. Jamie acknowledged it with a small, almost shy smile that made something flutter in Tess's stomach. He followed it with two more songs—one she recognized from the radio, and another she suspected was original, though he didn't introduce it as such.

"You're staring," Leah murmured, amusement temporarily replacing her worry about their family drama. "Like you used to stare at that street musician in Faneuil Hall Marketplace."

"I am not," Tess protested, but then Jamie was making his way to the bar, guitar still slung over his shoulder, and all her clever responses deserted her. He moved with an easy grace that spoke of someone comfortable in their own skin, even if that comfort had been hard-won.

"Whiskey?" he asked, his smile hitting her like a physical thing. Up close, she could see the laugh lines around his eyes, the way his hands still moved like they were keeping time to some internal rhythm.

"On the house," she managed, pouring him a glass. The good stuff—not the well whiskey they served to tourists. "That was…you're incredible."

His smile deepened, reaching his eyes. "Thanks. Wasn't sure I still had it. Been a while since I've played for anyone but my empty kitchen."

"Trust me, you do." She found herself leaning slightly closer, drawn in by the warmth in his voice. "So what made you decide to play again?"

Jamie traced the rim of his glass, thoughtful. The gesture reminded her of the way Kaitlyn had held her coffee mug the day before, both of them carrying weights they weren't quite ready to set down.

"Honestly? Something about tonight just felt right. Like maybe it was time to stop living in the past."

The words hit close to home, making her think of Kaitlyn, of Gretchen, of all the ways the past could hold you hostage if you let it.

"I get that," she said softly, meaning it more than he could know.

He met her gaze, something warming in his expression. "So what's your story? You don't seem like the usual Max's bartender."

Tess laughed, the sound surprising her with its genuineness after the tension of the past day. "That obvious?"

"Just a little. Most bartenders I’ve dealt with don't look at their customers like they're trying to write their stories in their heads."

She hesitated, then offered him a version of the truth. "My sister and I moved here thinking we had it all figured out. Turns out life has other plans sometimes." She gestured at the bar around them. "Though lately I'm starting to think maybe the plans find you, rather than the other way around."

"Best laid plans…" Jamie nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Sometimes you have to let go and see where the music takes you. Everything I thought I had figured out ten years ago…" He shrugged, but there was peace in the gesture rather than resignation. "Life has its own rhythm."

"Says the man who hasn't played in a decade," she teased, surprising herself with her boldness.

He chuckled, the sound doing interesting things to her pulse. "Touché. Maybe we're both due for some new material. Although, to be fair, I started back up playing guitar several years ago, just not in public."

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