Page 27 of Key West Promises

"The human element," Leah finished. When he looked up in surprise, she added, "That's what Elena said. We're not just selling a service, we're asking people to believe in possibility."

"Elena's smart." Jack leaned back, studying her. "And apparently a bit of a matchmaker these days."

Leah felt heat rise in her cheeks. "She means well."

"She usually does." His smile softened any sting from the words. "Though in this case, her interference might be…fortuitous. For Paradise Harbor House, of course."

"Of course," Leah agreed, trying to ignore how his gaze made her pulse quicken. "So, about these grants…"

"Right." Jack pulled a legal pad toward him, uncapping a pen. "First rule of grant writing—know your audience. Different foundations have different hot buttons. Some want innovation, others want proven track records. The trick is matching your story to their interests without compromising your truth."

As he talked, Leah found herself drawn in, not just by the information, but by his passion for the subject. His hands moved expressively as he explained concepts, his voice warm with enthusiasm. This was clearly more than just a favor for Elena.

"Why do you care so much about this?" she asked during a natural pause. "About Paradise Harbor House, about helping us?"

Jack was quiet for a moment, absently turning his coffee mug between his hands. His expression shifted, becoming more serious. "You know why I left journalism?"

The sudden change in direction caught her off guard. "Elena mentioned there was a story, but said it wasn't hers to tell."

"I was working on an exposé about corporate corruption. Big story, career-making stuff." He set his mug down carefully. "But I got so focused on chasing the story, I missed the human cost. A source I'd promised to protect…well, let's just say I learned the hard way that some truths come at too high a price."

Leah watched his hands, noting how they tensed around the mug. "What happened?"

"She lost everything. Her job, her home, her kids' college funds. All because I was too caught up in being right to remember I was dealing with real lives, not just headlines." He met her eyes. "Elena was running a smaller shelter then. She helped that woman rebuild her life while I was busy winning journalism awards."

"That's why you opened the bookstore?"

"Partly. I needed to do something that helped people find their own stories instead of just exposing others'. And when Elena mentioned what you're trying to do at Paradise Harbor House…" He smiled slightly. "Let's just say I understand what it means to need a fresh start. To have people believe in you when you're rebuilding."

Something in his honesty made Leah want to offer truth in return. "I know something about fresh starts. My sister and I came here with big dreams and no real plan. We failed at everything we tried."

"And yet here you are, trying again." His voice was soft with understanding. "That takes courage."

"Or desperation." She tried to make it sound like a joke, but Jack wasn't smiling.

"You know what I've learned from running this place?" He gestured at the shelves around them. "Every good story has moments of desperation. It's what characters do next that matters."

Their eyes met, and Leah felt something shift between them—a recognition of shared understanding, of walls carefully lowered.

"Besides," he added, his smile returning, "I'm a sucker for a good story. And Paradise Harbor House? That's a story worth telling."

Will stood on the yellow bungalow's porch, second-guessing his decision to come. He'd left his camera at home deliberately—a peace offering of sorts after yesterday's tension at Paradise Harbor House. The morning sun was already fierce, and Ernest the rooster eyed him suspiciously from the withered herb garden.

When Tess answered the door, her expression was curious but not unwelcoming. "Morning."

"Hey, we haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Will Moreno. I’m working on a…”

Tess interrupted him. “I know who you are. Elena mentioned you, I’m Tess, Kaitlyn’s aunt…well, her other aunt. I think you met Leah already.”

Will nodded. “I’m sorry to barge in like this. I stopped by Paradise Harbor House," he said, feeling oddly nervous. “Elena said Kaitlyn hasn’t been in. I wanted to apologize if I pushed too hard with the documentary stuff yesterday.”

Something flickered across Tess’s face—concern, maybe understanding. “She’s taking a mental health day. Said something about needing to clear her head.”

“Oh.” He shifted his weight, debating whether to press further. Kaitlyn’s reaction yesterday had suggested something deeper than just discomfort with cameras. “Is she okay? She seemed…off.”

“That’s not really my story to tell.” Tess paused, then added with careful consideration, “But if someone wanted to find her, she mentioned going to Smathers Beach. The quiet end, away from the tourists.”

His heart lifted slightly. “Thanks. I, uh, I actually recommended that beach to her.”

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