Page 28 of Key West Promises

“Did you now?” The knowing look in Tess’s eyes made him want to explain, though he wasn’t sure what he’d say.

“It’s not…I mean, I just thought…”

“Will?” Tess interrupted his fumbling. “The quiet end of Smathers. That’s all I’m saying.”

He nodded, already turning toward the steps. “Right. Thanks.”

The quiet end of Smathers Beach was exactly as Will remembered it—a stretch of sand far enough from the tourist spots to feel almost private.

He spotted Kaitlyn immediately, sitting near the water's edge, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her blonde hair danced in the breeze, and something about her stillness made him catch his breath.

He approached slowly, making sure his footsteps were audible in the sand. "This spot taken?"

Kaitlyn looked up, surprise flickering across her face before settling into something more guarded. "How did you find me?"

"Your aunt Tess said you might be here." He gestured to the sand beside her. "Mind if I sit?"

She rolled her eyes. “Aunt Tess, of course.” She patted the sand which he took as permission.

“I’m glad to see you followed my recommendation. It’s a great place to chill.”

Kaitlyn nodded but said nothing.

For a while, they just watched the waves, the rhythm of water meeting shore filling the silence between them.

He had a million questions, but he’d wait for Kaitlyn to lead the conversation. For now, he was content just to sit beside her and enjoy the moment.

Kaitlyn had chosen the spot carefully, far enough from the tourist chaos to hear herself think. The waves provided a steady backdrop to her churning thoughts, memories of her father mixing with images from Joanna Miller's Instagram feed— birthday parties, graduations, family vacations she'd never been part of. And now, the family drama was about to blow up into something more than she could handle.

Will's arrival should have annoyed her, but something about his quiet presence felt steadying. He hadn't brought his camera, she noticed. Hadn't tried to turn this into content.

She found herself acutely aware of him sitting beside her—the subtle scent of his soap mixing with the salt air, the way his blue linen shirt pulled across his shoulders as he leaned back on his hands, how his hair caught the morning light. Even with her world in chaos, she couldn't help but notice how attractive he was, especially now, with his usual swagger replaced by genuine concern.

"No camera today?" she asked, more to distract herself from these thoughts than anything else.

"Figured we could both use a break from documenting things." His voice was gentle, free of its usual teasing edge, and something about its warmth made her pulse quicken. "Sometimes it's okay to just…be."

The simple permission in those words—to exist without performing, to hurt without having to explain why—made her fight back tears. She looked out at the horizon, where the ocean met the sky in an endless blue line, very aware of how close he was sitting, how easy it would be to lean into him.

"I used to think everything important needed to be captured," she said finally, sneaking glances at his profile. She'd never noticed before how blue his eyes were or how expressive his hands were when he talked. "Every moment had to be filtered and shared and made perfect. But some things…" She swallowed hard. "Some things shouldn't be pretty. Some truths are messy."

Will was quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between them. His shoulder brushed hers, sending little sparks of awareness through her body.

"You know what I've learned doing documentaries? The real story isn't in the perfect moments. It's in the spaces between them. The quiet truths people carry."

She turned to look at him then, really look at him. His usual confident demeanor had softened into something more authentic, and the combination of strength and vulnerability in his expression made her heart twist. For the first time, she wondered what quiet truths he might be carrying. For the first time, she wanted to know his story as much as she wanted to hide her own.

"Does it get easier?" she asked. "Telling the hard stories?"

"No," he admitted. "But maybe it's not supposed to. Maybe the hard part is what makes them worth telling."

Another wave rolled in, erasing other footprints from the sand. Kaitlyn felt something shift inside her—not healing exactly, but perhaps the beginning of understanding how healing might be possible. And underneath that, a growing awareness of Will as more than just the annoying documentarian who'd challenged her defenses.

"I'm not ready to tell my story yet," she said softly, fighting the urge to reach for his hand.

Will nodded, his shoulder brushing hers again as he leaned back. This time, neither of them moved away from the contact.

"That's okay. Sometimes the best stories need time to find their way into words."

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