I refuse to make a promise I can’t keep.

“Did you say this place has a detached ohana?” she asks.

“It does, but it needs work from what I read.”

“Can we see it?”

I shrug. “Sure. Follow me.”

On our way out of the room, we spot a private dining room on the far side of the space with those fold-back windows and killer views. A kitchenette sits tucked in one functional corner. On the other side of the bedroom is a luxurious bathroom that’s all sleek and teak and glass. Spa-like and lush. Like something out of a magazine.

After snapping photos, I pull Keeley out of the room reluctantly. We wend our way through the house, retrieve our shoes, then head around back. A stunning infinity-edge pool is situated between the main structure and the ohana, seeming to drop off right into the ocean. It’s an optical illusion I don’t think I’d ever get tired of if I lived here. The deck has a tropical feel with waterfalls, palm trees, and native stones. It looks almost like this man-made oasis grew organically out of the ground.

After grabbing more images on my phone, we stroll to the ohana. On one side of the structure, we climb its stairs, then open the door. Cans of paint and boxes of tile await. The ceilings obviously need repair since I see daylight, and the owners have a tarp thrown over a computer workstation against one wall, probably in case of rain. But it’s a wide space with double French doors and more of that amazing view.

“Morning yoga here would be so inspiring. It always centers me, but this would be beyond.”

I don’t downward dog, but I can imagine that any period of time up here in silence trying to commune with your body and thoughts would be a hell of a lot less trying if the view was this fantastic.

“So when you’re looking for a place of your own in the next few years, keep some sort of ohana in mind. With a little spit and polish, this would be a great asset to your inn.”

“Sure,” she says quietly. “That makes sense.”

But there’s no enthusiasm in her voice. Reality has set in.

A place like this is way beyond her reach.

After capturing the last of my snapshots, I lead her toward the car.

“Wait.” She looks back at the place as if she’s drawn to it against her will. “Can I go back inside? Just one more minute.”

I’m at her disposal for the rest of the day. If that’s what she wants to do, it doesn’t bother me. I’m weirdly fond of the house myself. “Sure.”

Keeley gravitates back to the family room, sits on the sofa, and stares out at the ocean. Before I can settle in beside her, she’s up and headed for the kitchen, touching the sleek, pale quartz counters. She visits each of the bedrooms and stares as if she’s trying to imprint herself with their memories.

This place has actually been vacant for the better part of six months. The owner moved back to Australia and paid a management company for its upkeep until it sells. If a house had feelings, this one would be lonely. And Keeley looks more than eager to keep it company. If I could simply give it to her, she would be its most ardent caretaker, I’m sure.

“Let’s go,” she suggests finally. She sounds more disheartened than ever.

After checking my phone, I take her to a few other properties around the island with ocean views. The first is another plantation-style house in white, so I’m thinking she’ll like it. It’s about half the size and acreage. It needs work, and the price reflects that. But it’s got nice bones and a good view of Molokai.

We tour the house in silence. Like the last one, it has three bedrooms and three baths. I admit, the kitchen needs an overhaul, the bedrooms are cramped, and the bathrooms are crappy. But the beach is awesome, very private. She could do worse.

“Well?”

She shrugs. “I’m just not feeling it.”

“I know. But I’m trying to teach you two valuable lessons.”

Keeley raises an annoyed brow at me. “You’re kicking a girl when she’s down, huh?”

“No, sunshine.” It hurts me to see her dejected, so I take her hand. I’m so thrilled when she doesn’t pull away. “Helping you see this through a business eye. First, when you start shopping for property for real, don’t look outside of your budget. It’s way too easy to get attached to something you can’t afford.”

“Yeah, I’m learning that lesson fast. You should have warned me to stay in the car on our last stop.”

“You would have ignored me,” I point out.

Her noisy sigh tells me I’m right. “You could take some of the blame.”

Her grousy attitude is kind of adorable. “All right. I will. It’s so my fault.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel better. What’s my second lesson?”

“Don’t look at what it is. Consider what it could be.” I lead her out the door from the family room onto the lanai. “This place could benefit from a fresh coat of paint. They’re selling it furnished, so that saves money.”

“A lot of this furniture is really beat up.”

“Smoke and mirrors. Buy some slipcovers, learn to reupholster. Add bright accents. You’d get the most out of this view by taking half the crap out of the crowded space, anyway. Spend the money to replace some of the old windows with an accordion glass door and maximize the view. That’s why vacationers come here, not for the sofa. That other stuff can wait.”

We walk the place one more time, and I give Keeley the more logical breakdown of how this property could be a moneymaker. She’s not having it. In all fairness, when she points out that none of the bedrooms have a view of the water, I can’t refute that. That’s something else customers want. Her realizing that enormous flaw is a bonus.

We hit the next place, this one about three hundred thousand more expensive than the last. It’s got five bedrooms…but only two baths—awkward for guests who don’t know one another. It’s smaller than the last place. Nicer views, sure. But the house is a turquoise-colored cracker box in need of repair with a giant satellite dish in the front yard.

“No.” Keeley doesn’t even want to go inside.

“The house has redeeming qualities,” I argue.

“I don’t care. The dirt road up here was so jarring I don’t even know how many teeth I have left.”

“You’re being stubborn,” I point out.