Page 30 of Key West Promises

"Tell me," he said simply.

So she did. Standing there with waves lapping at their feet, Kaitlyn told him everything—about finding Joanna's Instagram, about discovering her father's other life, about her mother's years of deception. The words poured out like a tide finally breaking through a dam.

"Her name is Sarah," Kaitlyn said, her voice catching. "She's sixteen now. She plays volleyball and loves photography—I can tell from her posts. She has my father's smile. Our father's smile. And she has no idea I exist."

She described the moment she'd first seen Sarah's photo—a casual family snapshot at a beach bonfire, their father's arm around her shoulders, both of them laughing at some private joke. How she'd spent hours comparing their features, looking for shared traits, wondering if Sarah had inherited their father's terrible dancing or his love of spicy food.

"The worst part?" Kaitlyn continued, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Mom knew. All those years when I was asking about Dad, wondering why he traveled so much, why he seemed to disappear completely—she knew he had another family. She knew I had a sister out there, and when she’d finally had enough and divorced him, she just…she let me think I wasn't worth staying for."

Will listened without interrupting, his presence comforting. When she finally fell silent, he asked, "Have you thought about reaching out to her?"

"Every day since I found out. And then I think about what it would do to my mom, to everyone…" She picked up a shell, turning it over in her hands. "How do you tell someone their whole life has a chapter they never knew about?"

"Maybe," Will said carefully, "that's exactly how you tell them. As a new chapter, not a revision of everything that came before."

The insight struck her with unexpected force. She looked at him—really looked at him—and felt something shift in her chest. Here was someone who understood the power of stories, who knew how they could hurt and heal in equal measure.

"I'm scared," she admitted, the words barely audible above the surf.

Will's hand found hers, warm and solid. "That's okay. Fear means it matters."

They stood there as the sun climbed higher, hands linked, watching pelicans dive into the waves. For the first time since discovering Sarah's existence, Kaitlyn felt the knot in her throat begin to loosen.

"You know what's weird?" she said finally. "Working at Paradise Harbor House, seeing all these families trying to rebuild, trying to find their way forward…it's made me realize maybe there's no such thing as a perfect family. Maybe it's all just people doing their best with what they have."

Will squeezed her hand gently. "That sounds like wisdom to me."

"Or maybe just exhaustion," she tried to joke, but her smile felt more real than it had in days.

"Want to get coffee?" Will asked, seeming reluctant to let go of her hand. "I know this great little Cuban place that makes the best café con leche in Key West."

Kaitlyn hesitated, then nodded. Maybe it was time to take a break from the drama and just enjoy her time with Will. There was still plenty of time to figure things out. "Lead the way."

Across town at The Lost Anchor, Leah sat surrounded by grant applications and financial records, Jack's steady presence beside her as they worked. The familiar scent of books and coffee wrapped around them like a comforting blanket, and Leah loved spending time with Jack.

"Look at this," Jack said, pointing to a passage in the guidelines. "They're specifically looking for programs that bridge community divides. Paradise Harbor House’s work with local businesses could be the angle we need."

Leah leaned closer, acutely aware of how his shoulder brushed hers. The contact sent a small shiver through her that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. She'd noticed lately how often these small touches occurred—casual brushes that felt anything but casual, moments of contact that lingered just a heartbeat too long.

"Elena's been building those relationships for years," she mused, trying to focus on the words rather than his proximity. "The job training program with local restaurants, the literacy partnership with schools…"

"Exactly." Jack's eyes lit up with that journalist's spark she was coming to recognize. "It's not just about providing shelter—it's about weaving people back into the fabric of the community. That's the story these grant makers want to hear."

He reached for another file, his hand brushing hers in the process. Neither of them commented on the contact, but Leah felt her pulse quicken. They'd been dancing around this growing attraction for days now, each interaction charged with unspoken possibility.

"You're good at this," Leah observed, meaning more than just grant writing.

"At what?"

"Seeing the story beneath the story."

His smile warmed. "Years of practice. Though lately I find myself more interested in being part of the story than just observing it."

The implication hung between them, delicate as a page turning. A customer approached the counter then, breaking the moment, and Jack stood to help them. Leah watched him move through his bookstore with easy grace, noting how he seemed to know exactly what each browser needed—whether it was book recommendations or just space to browse in peace.

When he returned, he carried fresh coffee and a plate of Cuban pastries. "Brain food," he explained, setting them down. "Can't write grants on an empty stomach."

"You're spoiling me," Leah said, but she reached for a pastry anyway.

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