Page 15 of The Wexley Inn
“Thanks,” Thomas replied, feeling a swell of pride. “She surprises me every day.”
Isabella nodded. “She’s protective of you. That’s nice to see.”
Before Thomas could respond, Wade Collins approached with an urgent question about the electrical assessment, and the moment passed. Isabella excused herself to review the notes, leaving Thomas to address the technical issue.
The rest of the day passed with lots of productivity. Thomas and his team completed their preliminary assessment of the inn’s structural systems. By late afternoon, he had a comprehensive overview of the building’s condition. It was better than he feared in some areas and worse in others, but overall, a great restoration project.
As the crew packed up for the day, he found Isabella on the front porch looking at their findings.
“We’ll have a detailed proposal to you within a week,” he said. “My structural engineer will verify everything tomorrow, but I’m pretty confident in our overall assessment.”
“That’s excellent news,” she said. “I appreciate how thorough you and your team have been.”
A warm breeze stirred the Spanish moss hanging from nearby oaks, carrying the sweet scent of jasmine from the overgrown garden. For a moment, the years between them seemed to compress. It brought Thomas back to similar evenings where they spent their time discussing design concepts on university benches, their heads bent together over sketches, the world full of possibilities.
“Isabella,” he began, uncertain of exactly what he wanted to say, but feeling the need to acknowledge it. “About Emma.”
“She’s lovely,” Isabella interrupted. “You’ve done a great job raising her, and you should be proud.”
“Well, I am,” he said. “Thanks for being so gracious with her. She can be a little overprotective of me.”
“As she should be.” Isabella’s expression was completely unreadable. “Family looks out for each other, and that’s how it should be.”
Something in her tone, a slight wistfulness perhaps, reminded him that she’d never had any children of her own. According to discreet inquiries around the island, she'd been married to another hotel executive, but that relationship had ended in divorce two years ago.
“Will you be at the architectural review board meeting next week?” he asked.
“Yes, although Vivian has warned me not to expect immediate approval. Apparently, the board prefers to ‘thoroughly consider’ all proposals, especially from newcomers like me.”
He smiled. “That’s Vivian-speak for ‘we’re going to make you jump through hoops because you’re not a third-generation islander.’ However, don’t worry; your plans are very solid, and the historical accuracy will likely satisfy the board’s concerns. Well, most of them.”
“Most?”
“Grayson Williams sits on the board. He has his own ideas about the island’s future development, and they do not align with historical preservation.”
“Yes, I met him yesterday. He made a generous offer to buy the inn from me.”
Thomas felt a surprising surge of alarm. “Wait, he did? What did you tell him?”
“I told him I didn’t buy the inn to flip it. I came here to create something meaningful, not make a quick profit.”
Relief washed over Thomas. The idea of the inn falling into Grayson’s hands and being demolished for one of his modern resort complexes was deeply unsettling.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Thomas said. “Grayson has been trying to get his hands on this property for years. He sees the historic district as prime real estate for development rather than preservation.”
“So I gathered,” Isabella said, “and he wasn’t exactly subtle about his intentions.”
The last of Thomas’s crew waved goodbye and then left, leaving Thomas and Isabella alone on the porch. The late afternoon light filtered through the oak trees, casting dappled shadows across the weathered floorboards.
“I’d better go,” Thomas said, knowing he needed to meet Emma for dinner.
“We’ve made good progress today,” Isabella nodded. “Thanks, and please thank your crew as well. They’re remarkably knowledgeable and have been so respectful of the property.”
Her professional mask was firmly back in place.
“They understand what this place means to the island. Most of them have personal connections to the inn when it was operational.”
A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with the evening chorus of birds settling in for the night and the distant whisper of waves hitting the shore. The air between them felt charged with unspoken memories and careful boundaries. Thomas found himself wanting to say something more, to bridge the careful distance they kept, but the weight of thirty years and too many regrets kept him silent.
