Page 18 of The Wexley Inn
Isabella laughed, unsure if Luella was making a joke or being serious. “You know, I never thought cooking had so much in common with corporate leadership, but you might be onto something there.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Luella hummed, watching her closely. “Leadership, cooking, renovation - all of it’s about knowing when to be firm and when to be gentle.” She gestured toward the window where Thomas could be seen directing his crew as they secured exterior materials against the approaching storm. “Some folks understand the balance better than others.”
Isabella followed Luella’s gaze and watched as Thomas pointed out something on a blueprint to one of his workers. Over the past few weeks, since the architectural review board had finally approved the preliminary plans for the renovation, he and his crew had made impressive progress on reinforcing the inn’s structure. Each day, Isabella observed his careful approach, preserving original elements when possible and replacing only what couldn’t be salvaged, always with an eye toward maintaining historical accuracy.
“He’s very good at what he does,” Isabella said, turning back to her cooking task.
“Oh, he always has been,” Luella said. “Even as a little boy, he had a gift for seeing how things fit together and what made them strong.”
Isabella hesitated for a moment but then asked the question that had been on her mind since her conversation with Luella weeks ago. “You said before that Thomas always did what he thought was right, even if it cost him. What did you mean by that?”
Luella was quiet for a moment, staring into the bowl. “Not my story to tell,” she finally said, “but I will say this. Thomas Langley carries more weight than most people will ever realize, and he has since he was barely more than a boy himself.”
Before Isabella could probe any further, the kitchen door swung open and Thomas entered, a concerned expression on his face.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said, nodding to greet both of them. “Storm’s movin’ in faster than we expected. We’re going to secure the site, but you might want to move your car to higher ground, Isabella. That driveway tends to flood in heavy rain.”
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the marsh like a warning, and the Spanish moss outside the windows began dancing in the rising wind.
“There’s a parking area behind my cottage that never floods,” Luella said. “You can leave it there till the storm passes.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that shortly,” Isabella said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
“I’ve got the crew moving materials inside and covering what can’t be moved,” Thomas said. “The roof patch we installed yesterday should hold, but I’d like to stick around a little while to make sure there are no leaks in any of the areas we’re working on.”
Isabella nodded, appreciating his thoroughness. “Well, of course. I was planning to stay to review the dining room plans anyway.”
Luella gave them both a knowing look before turning to remove her pot from the stove.
“Well, there ain’t no sense in letting this food go to waste. You two might as well eat it while you wait out the storm.” She started transferring the shrimp and grits into serving dishes. “Thomas, make yourself useful and set the table in the small parlor. The dining room’s still too dusty for civilized eating.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, taking plates from the cabinet with the ease of someone who knew Luella’s kitchen as well as she did. Isabella watched his movements, noticing how comfortable he seemed in this domestic setting. For a moment, she could imagine what their life might have looked like—sharing meals, working together, building something lasting.
Isabella moved to help, gathering silverware and napkins and trying to ignore the weird domesticity of the moment. When she couldn’t handle not staring at Thomas anymore, she ran outside to move her car.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them sat in the small parlor as rain began pattering against the windows. The candlelight flickered across Thomas's face, and Isabella found herself stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.
Luella had set up a surprisingly elegant display on an antique side table she’d pulled into use, complete with candles ‘in case the power went out’,” she said. She mentioned it would probably go out on this island if a squirrel so much as sneezed at a power line.
The meal was delicious, the shrimp and grits creamy and perfectly seasoned with subtle heat. Isabella savored the authentic flavors, already envisioning this dish being featured on the inn’s future menu.
“This is absolutely wonderful, Luella,” she said. “I can see why your cooking has been legendary here.”
“Still is,” Thomas said with a smile. “Luella’s catering is the most requested on the island, even with all those fancy Charleston chefs coming in.”
Luella waved away the compliments, although Isabella detected a pleased look in her eyes. “It’s just good, honest cooking. Nothing fancy about knowing how to treat your ingredients right.”
The rain intensified, drumming against the windows and roof. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that rattled the old windows.
“Wow, that was close,” Isabella said, trying to mask her slight unease. She’d never been entirely comfortable during thunderstorms, a childhood fear she’d mostly outgrown but that still came up occasionally.
"Just a typical summer squall," Luella said calmly. "Comes on fast, raises holy hell, then moves on through, unlike some storms that settle in and won't budge." She gave Thomas a meaningful look.
The conversation turned to the inn’s history, with Luella sharing stories about notable guests and island events that had taken place over the decades. Isabella listened because she wanted to mentally catalog all the details that she could incorporate into the marketing materials once the inn reopened.
"You know, we had Kennedy folk stay here once," Luella said. "Not the president himself, mind you, but his sister and her husband. Gracious as you please, those two, and they knew how to treat the help proper."
“I didn’t realize the inn had such distinguished guests,” Isabella said.
