Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
T he next two days disappeared in a blur of preparations, to-do lists, and the occasional minor disaster. Paradise Harbor House’s kitchen had transformed into command central, with Elena wielding her iPad like a general coordinating troops while Tess and Leah churned out trays of appetizers under her watchful eye.
The only problem was Gretchen wanted so desperately to connect with her daughter, she was driving everyone crazy, especially Chelsea.
"The bruschetta needs more basil," Gretchen announced, reaching past Tess to adjust the seasoning. "And honestly, have you thought about doing a test batch with sun-dried tomatoes instead? I saw this lovely recipe…"
"Gretchen," Leah said through gritted teeth, "I've been making this bruschetta since before Kaitlyn was born. The recipe is fine."
"I'm just trying to help." Gretchen rearranged the serving platters for the third time. "Speaking of Kaitlyn, has she mentioned her plans after the fundraiser? I mean, working at a shelter is wonderful, but it's hardly a career path. And about that young man with the camera."
Chelsea appeared in the doorway, arching an eyebrow at her sister. "Gretchen. A word?"
In the hallway, Chelsea crossed her arms. "You need to dial it back about ten notches."
"What? I'm being supportive!"
"You're being overwhelming. The bruschetta police routine? The not-so-subtle questions about Kaitlyn's future? You're trying so hard to make up for everything that you're suffocating everyone."
"I just want…"
"To help. I know. But maybe focus on the tasks Kaitlyn actually asked you to do instead of critiquing everyone else's work. And for heaven's sake, stop dropping hints about her career path. This isn’t the time to talk about that. Besides, she'll figure it out."
Gretchen deflated slightly, leaning against the wall. "I don't know how to do this, Chelsea. Every time I see her taking charge of something, being so…capable, I want to jump in and be part of it. But then I remember why she's keeping me at arm's length, and I don’t know how to…"
"Try harder?" Chelsea finished dryly. "Which makes her pull away more, which makes you try even harder. It's like watching someone dig themselves deeper while insisting they're building stairs. Maybe stop trying so hard and let things evolve naturally."
Through the kitchen door, they could hear Kaitlyn directing volunteers, her voice confident and sure. "The silent auction items need to be arranged by category. Maybe put the restaurant gift certificates together? And can someone double-check the display cards for typos?"
"Did you hear that?" Gretchen whispered. "When did she get so organized? And why didn't I know she could be like this? It feels like only yesterday I was telling her to clean her room.”
Chelsea laughed. "Maybe because you were too busy planning her life to see the one she was building." Chelsea's voice softened at her sister's flinch. "Sorry. That was harsh. But Gretchen, you have to give her space to be who she is now, not who you thought she should be. No amount of pushing her right now is a good idea. She’s got a lot on her plate. Try to be patient."
"I saw her looking at real estate listings," Gretchen blurted. "On her phone last night. Here in Key West. And Will mentioned something about a documentary series he's planning about local businesses. He wants her to help produce it."
"And?"
"And she's my daughter! She should be thinking about graduate school or a corporate job or?—"
"Or maybe," Chelsea interrupted, "she should be thinking exactly what she's thinking. Which, by the way, is none of your business unless she chooses to share it."
Inside the kitchen, something clattered, followed by Tess yelling
"Gretchen! What did you do to my bruschetta? You didn’t spread them out the way I told you to.”
Chelsea smothered a laugh. "Come on. Let's find you something constructive to do that doesn't involve critiquing anyone's cooking or career choices. I think Elena needed help organizing the donation records."
"But—"
"No buts. The only way you're going to rebuild trust with Kaitlyn is by showing her you can respect her choices. Even the ones you don't understand. Even the ones that terrify you because they don't fit your plan."
Gretchen squared her shoulders, a gesture so like Kaitlyn's that it made Chelsea's heart twist. "I just want her to be happy."
"I know. But maybe it's time to let her show you what that looks like instead of telling her."
“By the way, I sent a text to Jeffrey and he and Sarah are definitely coming to Key West,” Gretchen added.
“That’s great. When?”
“He said they’d get here two days after the fundraiser.”
“Let him know that I’ll make reservations for them at The Gardens Hotel. I think it will be the perfect spot for Kaitlyn and Sarah to get acquainted in private.”
Gretchen nodded. “Will do.”
At that moment, Will walked in with his camera equipment, and Gretchen's entire body tensed like a guard dog spotting an intruder.
"Don't even think about it," Chelsea warned under her breath.
"I just want to ask him?—"
"No."
"But his documentary work can't possibly provide a stable?—"
"Gretchen. No."
They watched as Will set up his equipment with practiced efficiency. Kaitlyn emerged from the office, her face lighting up when she saw him. He matched her smile with one of his own, and even Gretchen couldn't miss the way the entire room seemed to fade away for them.
"The chairman of the arts foundation is here," Kaitlyn told him, consulting her clipboard. "Elena thinks it would be good to get some footage of their involvement. Show how the whole community supports Paradise Harbor House."
"Perfect," Will replied. "And I was thinking we could interview Jamie about the local restaurant partnerships."
"Already scheduled for this afternoon," Kaitlyn finished. "After he drops off the catering contracts."
Gretchen's fingers twitched toward her iPad. "You know, when I was organizing the hospital fundraiser last year and…"
"Nope," Chelsea interrupted, steering her sister toward the door. "Come on. Donation records. Now."
"But I have experience with that."
"What you have is boundary issues. Let's go."
As they left, they could hear Will asking Kaitlyn about camera angles for the silent auction setup. Her response was confident, professional, showing a depth of understanding that made Gretchen's steps falter.
"She's good at this," Gretchen whispered, half to herself. "Really good."
"Yes, she is. And that terrifies you, doesn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
Chelsea stopped in the hallway, turning to face her sister. "Because if she's good at this—if she's found her place here—then you have to accept that her life might look very different from what you planned. That she might choose Key West and Will and documentary filming over law school and corporate jobs and whatever else you had mapped out in your head."
"I just want her to be secure. To have opportunities."
"Look around, Gretchen. She's creating her own opportunities. She's building something meaningful. And if you're not careful, you're going to miss it because you're too busy worrying about what it isn't."
Before Gretchen could respond, Leah poked her head out of the kitchen. "Has anyone seen the backup list of auction items? The one with the donor contact information?"
"Blue folder!" several voices called out.
"No," Kaitlyn corrected, not looking up from her conversation with Will. "Mom reorganized everything into color-coded digital files this morning. Check your email."
The simple acknowledgment—"Mom"—made Gretchen's eyes fill with tears. It was the first time Kaitlyn had referenced her that way since the truth came out.
"Baby steps," Chelsea said softly, squeezing her sister's arm. "Now come on. Those donation records aren't going to organize themselves. Though I'm sure you have thoughts about their filing system too."
"Actually," Gretchen said, wiping her eyes, "I was thinking maybe I should just observe for a while. See how they do things here. I just want to be close by and help if anyone needs me."
Chelsea's smile was approving. "Now that's the smartest thing you've said all day."
Leah sat at the welcome desk, updating donor lists and trying not to check her phone every five minutes. Jack had texted earlier about meeting with the cruise captain, promising to stop by afterward with details. She told herself her anticipation was purely professional—after all, the cruise was a crucial part of the fundraiser—but even she wasn't buying that excuse anymore.
"If you stare any harder at that door, you might burn a hole through it," Chelsea commented, passing by with an armload of auction items.
"I'm just waiting for information about the cruise," Leah protested.
"Mmhmm. Information. Is that what we're calling him now?"
Before Leah could respond, the door opened and Jack walked in.
"Good news," he announced. "Captain Mike's throwing in an extra hour at no charge. Says it's the least he can do for Paradise Harbor House."
"That's wonderful!" Leah stood, shuffling papers to hide her flustered reaction to his smile. "Did he mention anything about?—"
"The sunset timing? Already worked out. The lighting will be perfect for photos right as we serve dinner." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Though I was thinking maybe we could do our own sunset cruise sometime. After all this is over."
"Are you asking me on a date, Jack Calloway?"
"Depends. Are you saying yes?"
Their eyes met, and Leah felt that now-familiar warmth spread through her body. "I might be. If you ask properly."
"In that case…" He leaned against the desk. "Leah Lawrence, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me? Preferably on a boat, definitely involving sunset, absolutely no grant writing allowed."
"No grant writing? You drive a hard bargain." She tried to keep her tone light despite her racing pulse. "But I suppose I could manage that."
His smile deepened, reaching his eyes in that way that made her forget about spreadsheets and donor lists and everything else. "I should warn you—I have ulterior motives. I've been looking for someone to help me test out all the coffee shops in Key West. For research purposes, of course."
"Of course. Very professional."
"Extremely. Could take weeks of careful investigation."
"Months, even," Leah suggested, playing along.
"Exactly what I was thinking."
The promise of future possibilities hung between them, sweet and unhurried. For once, Leah didn't feel the need to plan everything out. Some things, she was learning, were better left to unfold naturally.
"So," Jack said, pulling something from his messenger bag, "I brought you something. A special edition I found at the shop."
He handed her a beautifully bound copy of "Pride and Prejudice." Leah ran her fingers over the embossed cover, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gift.
"You mentioned it was your favorite," he explained. "And this one has some interesting margin notes from a previous owner—a literature professor from the 1960s. Thought you might enjoy another perspective on Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's story."
"You remembered that conversation?" They'd discussed books during one of their late-night grant-writing sessions.
"I remember all our conversations," he said quietly. "Even the ones about proper comma placement in funding requests."
Chelsea chose that moment to walk by again, this time not even trying to hide her knowing smile. "Don't mind me. Just passing through. Repeatedly. Because I work here."
Jack chuckled. "Maybe we should continue this conversation somewhere else? The coffee shop down the street has great Cuban pastries. Unless you're too busy with fundraiser prep?"
"She's not," Chelsea called from across the room. "We've got it covered."
"I can spare thirty minutes," Leah said, trying to sound professional despite the warmth in her cheeks. "The donor lists can wait."
"Leah Lawrence, putting off paperwork? I'm shocked,” he said.
"Don't get used to it." She grabbed her purse, then hesitated. "Though…maybe we could make this a regular thing? Coffee and books?"
"Careful," he teased, holding the door for her. "First it's coffee and books, then before you know it, we're discussing first editions and rare manuscripts. Could be dangerous."
"I think I'm ready for a little danger," Leah replied, surprising herself with her boldness.
His smile softened into something that made her heart skip. "You know what? I think I am too."