Page 20 of The Wexley Inn
Thomas hesitated for a moment. “Wait for me to get back. That ceiling is unstable. I don’t want you getting hurt if more of it comes down.”
The concern in his voice was professional, but it carried an underlying note of personal care that Isabella found both comforting and unsettling.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “But we have to minimize this water damage.”
Thomas nodded reluctantly before rushing downstairs.
Isabella listened to his footsteps recede and then went to find buckets or containers to try to catch the water that was still falling through the hole. She found a plastic bin in a nearby storage closet and placed it under the worst of the leak, then searched for towels to soak up the water already spreading across the floor.
By the time Thomas came back, soaking wet from his dash to the truck and back, Isabella had created a containment system of bins and towels.
“Good thinking,” he said, dropping a bundle of tarps and a rope on a dry section of the floor. “Now let’s get something over that hole before the whole ceiling comes down on us.”
They worked together in the candlelight, rigging a temporary cover for the opening and securing the tarp to exposed beams with rope. They created a channel to direct water into the containers below. It was very awkward to work in dim light, requiring them to stand very close together, occasionally steadying each other as they reached up to secure the top.
At one moment, Thomas slightly lost his footing on the wet floor, and Isabella instinctively grabbed his arm to steady him, her hand wrapping around his bicep. She could feel the solid strength of his arm beneath the damp cotton, and suddenly she was twenty-two again, remembering how safe she’d always felt around him. The scent of his cologne mixed with rain and sawdust was painfully familiar. For a brief moment, they were pressed close, his damp shirt cool against her arm, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Oh, sorry,” he said softly, regaining his balance but not immediately moving away. “Slippery.”
“That’s okay,” Isabella said.
She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they stood, how the candlelight softened his features, and how familiar yet different it felt to have him beside her after all these years.
For a suspended moment, neither of them moved. Isabella could feel her heart pounding too fast, and it wasn’t from the effort of their repairs. In the flickering candlelight, with rain pounding against the windows, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. His eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
She stepped back deliberately, even though every instinct urged her to move closer. The loss of his warmth felt immediate and sharp. “We should probably check the other rooms,” she said, her professional tone back in place. “You know, make sure there aren’t other leaks.”
Thomas nodded, the moment broken. “Oh, you’re right, of course. We need to split up, though, to cover more ground. You take the east wing, I’ll check the west. Call me if you find anything serious.”
They separated, each of them taking a candle to light the way. Isabella was happy for the task, for the necessity of focusing on something practical rather than the complicated emotions that had surfaced during their brief physical proximity.
After thoroughly inspecting the house, they found no other major leaks and regrouped in the second-floor hallway. The storm was starting to slow down, the thunder now more distant, the rain less intense.
“Everything seems secure,” Isabella said. “I saw a few minor leaks in the east bedroom, but nothing serious.”
“Yeah, same on my side,” Thomas said. “The temporary roof patches are holding well, but once the storm passes, we’ll have to properly address that bathroom ceiling. The tarp should contain things until then.”
They made their way back downstairs, the awkwardness of the earlier moment hanging between them. In the parlor, they found Luella had returned and was calmly collecting the dishes from their interrupted meal.
“Roof problems?” she asked, eyeing their damp clothing.
“A section of the ceiling came down in the third-floor bathroom,” Thomas said, “but we’ve got it contained now.”
Luella nodded, unsurprised. “Oh, that bathroom’s been a problem since the seventies. Previous owners attempted to fix it on a budget, but it never worked out in the long run. When will people ever learn?”
Isabella smiled at her matter-of-fact assessment. “Well, you were right about the power outage, too.”
“Oh, I’ve seen a pattern or two in my years here,” Luella said, stacking dishes. “Storm’s passing now, but the power won’t be back till morning, if I know this island’s infrastructure.”
As if to confirm her prediction, Isabella’s phone chimed with a text message.
“It’s from Maggie Beaumont,” she said. “Island-wide power outage. Restoration crews won’t be out until morning because of flooded roads.”
Thomas sighed. “Well, that tracks. After the summer storms, the causeway often floods for a few hours at high tide.”
“Well, you two might as well make yourselves comfortable,” Luella said, picking up the stack of dishes. “I’m gonna head back to my cottage. I got a generator for my medical equipment. There are more candles in the pantry and plenty of flashlights in the emergency kit under the kitchen sink.”
After Luella left, Isabella and Thomas stood there in the parlor, both uncertain about what to do next. The storm had created this unexpected intimacy, forcing them to work closely together and share a meal and conversation beyond their everyday professional interactions.
