Page 2 of Key West Promises

Tess’s face broke into a mischievous grin. "You have to admit, 'Paradise Breeze' was inspirational. It’s not my fault it smelled like someone microwaved coconut sunscreen."

Leah groaned, resting her forehead on the table. "We’re two middle-aged women failing at the most basic part of paradise: staying afloat. This isn’t a rom-com. Nobody’s going to swoop in with a boat and a business proposal to save us."

Tess grabbed her sister’s shoulders, forcing her to sit upright. "You listen to me, Leah Marie Lawrence. We’re not done yet. If the universe doesn’t send us a rescue boat, we’ll build our own dinghy and row our way to the finish line."

Leah stared at her. "That’s…deeply unconvincing."

"But at least it’s colorful," Tess countered. "And right now, colorful is all we’ve got.

"Speaking of colorful," Tess said, moving to the window where Ernest the rooster had graduated from pecking at their failed herb garden to strutting along their porch railing, "remember when we thought we could start that chicken-watching tour?"

"'Meet the Wild Chickens of Key West,'" Leah quoted from memory, another failed business card design floating through her mind. "'Where Every Fowl Has a Story.'"

"It wasn't our worst idea," Tess defended, though her smile suggested otherwise. "At least the startup costs were low. Just some laminated fact sheets and those vintage binoculars we found at that estate sale."

Leah remembered those binoculars. They'd spent forty dollars on them, only to discover they were better at creating double vision than magnifying anything. Like everything else in their Key West adventure, even their mistakes had style.

The morning sun crept higher, turning their yellow bungalow's walls into something almost golden. Their landlord had warned them the color would be "aggressive" in full sunlight, but like everything else about their move to the Keys, they'd romanticized it. "Like living inside a sunset," Tess had declared. Now it just reminded Leah of their bank account's warning notifications.

"We could start a blog," Tess suggested, pulling out their last clean coffee mugs—souvenirs from a seafood festival where they'd briefly considered starting a food truck specializing in "gourmet grilled cheese with island flair."

"About what? 'How to Fail at Island Life with Style'?" Leah pushed back from the table, her chair scraping against the uneven floor, another charming feature of their rental that had seemed quaint a year ago.

"More like 'How to Reinvent Yourself at Fifty—A Cautionary Tale,'" Tess mused. "Chapter One: Don't Spend Your Retirement Fund on a Coffee Cart Named 'Bean There, Done That.'"

Despite herself, Leah laughed. When The CoiffeeShop idea fell through, their first major investment was the coffee cart. It was still in their garage, its custom paint job featuring dancing coffee beans wearing sunglasses slowly peeling in the humidity. They'd spent three weeks developing the perfect logo, two days actually trying to serve coffee, and six months making payments on the equipment they'd financed at what now seemed like criminally high interest rates.

A group of tourists wandered past their house, phones raised to photograph Ernest, who chose that moment to display his literary credentials by attempting to crow and nearly falling off the railing. The tourists cooed in delight, and Tess's eyes lit up with that dangerous sparkle Leah knew too well.

"Don't even think about it," Leah warned.

"Think about what?"

"Whatever new business idea just popped into your head. We can't afford another 'opportunity.'"

"I was just thinking…" Tess began, but Leah cut her off.

"That's exactly what you said before we bought three hundred dollars' worth of seashells to make 'authentic island wind chimes.'"

"Those would have sold if we'd figured out how to stop them from tangling," Tess protested. "And if they hadn't sounded like someone dropping silverware during a hurricane."

The morning breeze carried the smell of someone else's success—fresh-baked Cuban bread from the bakery nearby. Another reminder of their dwindling options. They'd once planned to partner with that bakery for their coffee cart business, back when possibilities seemed as endless as the horizon over the Gulf.

"We need a plan," Leah said, more to herself than to Tess. "A real one. Not involving crafts, food service, or anything requiring a permit from the city council."

"You make it sound so limiting." Tess sighed, but there was understanding beneath her teasing tone. She moved to the vision board, studying their collection of failed dreams with unexpected thoughtfulness. "You know what our real problem was?"

"Besides saying 'yes' to every idea that popped into your head?"

"We tried to be something we're not," Tess said, unpinning one of their old business cards. "We tried to be 'island entrepreneurs' instead of just being ourselves."

The words hung in the humid morning air, heavier than their collection of unsold merchandise and lighter than their mounting bills. Leah looked at her sister—really looked at her—and saw past the flamingo pajamas and relentless optimism to the wisdom that occasionally surfaced between schemes.

"And who are we?" Leah asked softly, genuinely curious about the answer.

Before Tess could respond, Ernest let out another attempted crow, this one somehow managing to sound both triumphant and questioning. Like them, he seemed caught between who he was and who he was trying to be.

CHAPTER 2

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