Page 26 of Key West Promises

"Doing my best." Elena picked up her pen again, twirling it between her fingers. "Monthly donations keep us afloat, but barely. Every time a new family arrives, I wonder if we'll have enough. And now with the sunset cruise fundraiser…" She trailed off, glancing at a budget sheet that seemed to mock her from the corner of her desk.

A child's laughter floated in from outside, followed by what sounded like Carla reading a story. The sounds of life continuing, of healing happening, despite the financial strain evident in this room.

"Let me help," Leah said. The words came naturally, surprising her with their certainty. "I've written countless proposals in the corporate world. Grants can't be that different."

"They're very different," Elena warned, but something in her posture had shifted—a slight relaxing of her shoulders, perhaps. "More complicated in some ways, simpler in others. And the competition for funding is fierce. You're not just selling a product or service—you're asking someone to believe in possibility."

"Then I'll learn." Leah straightened in her chair, feeling that familiar spark she used to get before tackling a new project. "I'll need to brush up on current practices, but–"

"Check out The Lost Anchor, over on Fleming. The owner's an old friend—used to be an investigative journalist before…" She paused, something flickering across her face. "Well, that's his story to tell. But if anyone can help you navigate the world of grant writing, it's Jack Calloway."

Something in Elena's tone made Leah look at her sharply, but Elena was already turning to her filing cabinet, the moment lost.

"Here's our financial history for the past five years. Not pretty, but honest. And this–" She pulled out another folder, this one newer. "Research I started on potential grants before reality got in the way. I'd love to know what you think about the sustainability angle. Several foundations are focusing on that now."

She handed both folders to Leah, then hesitated. "There's something else you should know. We're not just struggling—we're approaching a crossroads. The building needs repairs, our programs need updating, and the demand for our services keeps growing. If we can't find sustainable funding soon…"

"You won't have to close," Leah said firmly. "We won't let that happen."

"We?" Elena's eyebrow rose slightly.

"Yes, we. You're not alone in this anymore." Leah stood, clutching the folders like a lifeline. "I may not know much about grant writing yet, but I know about building cases for support. And Paradise Harbor House? This place sells itself. We just need to tell its story the right way."

"About that storytelling," Elena said, a slight smile playing at her lips. "Jack's actually been working on a book about Key West's hidden communities. He has a way of seeing beyond surface appearances, finding the heart of things." She paused meaningfully. "Rather like someone else I'm getting to know."

"Elena…" Leah started, recognizing matchmaking when she saw it.

"What? I'm just suggesting a valuable resource." Elena's innocent look wasn't fooling anyone. "And Leah? Thank you. Not many people see beyond the surface here."

"I'm learning to look deeper," Leah said softly, thinking of Kaitlyn, of Carla, of all the stories Paradise Harbor House held. Her fingers traced the edge of the folders, feeling the weight of responsibility they represented.

As she left Elena's office, Leah heard the sound of small feet running past, followed by Carla's gentle reminder about indoor voices. A volunteer was teaching someone how to use the computer in the common room, their heads bent together over the keyboard. In the kitchen, someone was baking cookies, the warm smell wrapping around her like a promise.

This place was worth fighting for. And if that meant learning a whole new skill set, spending hours in a bookstore with a former journalist…well, there were worse fates. She smiled, tucking the folders into her bag as she headed toward Fleming Street, toward The Lost Anchor, toward whatever story was waiting to begin.

CHAPTER 12

The bell above the door chimed softly as Leah entered The Lost Anchor, Elena's files weighing down her tote bag. The morning light filtered through dusty windows, catching on book spines and creating warm patterns across worn wooden floors. A few early customers browsed the shelves, coffee cups in hand.

Jack looked up from behind the counter where he was sorting through a stack of new arrivals. His face brightened with recognition. "The nonprofit management expert returns."

"Hardly," Leah said, approaching the counter. "Though I do come bearing evidence of how much help we need." She lifted her bag. "Elena gave me Paradise Harbor House’s financial records."

"And you thought reading depressing numbers would be more enjoyable with coffee?" His eyes crinkled with amusement, but she caught genuine interest beneath the teasing.

"Actually, I thought they'd be more manageable with expert guidance." She met his gaze directly. "Elena seems to think you know something about grant writing."

"Elena seems to think a lot of things lately." Jack's tone was dry, but warmth colored his expression. He gestured toward a quiet corner where two comfortable chairs faced each other across a small table. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

As Leah spread out the files, Jack disappeared behind the counter, returning moments later with two steaming mugs. "Cuban roast," he said, setting one beside her. "Brain fuel."

"You don't have to?—"

"Rule of the house," he interrupted, settling into the chair opposite her. "Serious conversations require serious coffee." He leaned forward, studying the papers she'd arranged. "Now, show me what's keeping Elena up at night."

For the next hour, they pored over the documents together. Jack asked precise, thoughtful questions, his journalist's instincts zeroing in on key details. His hand brushed hers occasionally as they exchanged papers, each contact sending small sparks through her fingers.

"The story's in the numbers," he said finally, tapping a particularly revealing spreadsheet. "But it's not the whole story. What we need is…”

---