Page 33 of The Wexley Inn
As they talked about potential themes and guest lists for the opening event, Isabella found herself enjoying the conversation. It felt good to look beyond the immediate challenges of renovation to the inn’s future as a functioning business and community gathering place. She’d hardly let herself think of that so far. She was so focused on all of the renovations that needed to be done.
The sun began to set when they finally said their goodbyes to Maggie. As they walked to their vehicles, Thomas paused beside Isabella’s car.
“You handled everything beautifully today,” he said. “Vivian didn’t know what hit her.”
She laughed softly. “Well, I’ve dealt with difficult people before. Corporate hotel chains have their own version of Vivian Pierce.”
“Still, navigating island politics isn’t easy for newcomers, and you’ve adapted remarkably well.” He hesitated and then added, “You know, you’ve always had that gift - seeing the heart of the situation and finding a way through it.”
The unexpected intimacy of the moment took Isabella by surprise. His voice carried the same warmth she remembered from those late college nights when they worked side by side on challenging design problems, when his praise meant everything to her young heart. Thirty years later, it still had the power to quicken her pulse.
The familiar warmth in his voice sent a warning through her chest. This was exactly how it had started before - the easy collaboration, the shared vision, the feeling that they were perfect partners. And then one day, without warning or explanation, it had all disappeared. She couldn't let herself forget that pain, no matter how natural it felt to fall back into their old rhythm.
“Thank you,” she said, not sure what else to say.
Thomas seemed to realize he'd crossed their carefully maintained professional boundaries, his eyes searching her face as if wondering whether she’d noticed the shift in his tone, the way ‘always’ linked their past to their present. “Well, I guess I should get going. Early start tomorrow with the window restoration team.”
“Of course. I’ll see you there at the inn.”
As she drove back to her cottage, she found herself thinking about the day’s events. The garden party had been a professional success and may have secured crucial support for the renovation. Still, she’d also revealed new dimensions of her relationship with Thomas—not just as contractor and client, but as two people with a complex shared history.
For the first time since arriving on the island, Isabella allowed herself to acknowledge what she'd been fighting - the growing attraction that felt both thrilling and terrifying. But with that acknowledgment came a sharp reminder: Thomas had walked away from her once without explanation. What guarantee did she have that he wouldn't do it again? The careful professional distance wasn't just protection for her heart - it was a lesson learned the hard way.
It was a possibility she'd forbidden herself to consider until now. Though it frightened her, she couldn't deny the relief that came with simply acknowledging what had been growing between them. The inn was revealing more than architectural treasures - it was excavating feelings she'd thought were safely buried.
Thomas knelt in the crawlspace under the inn’s east wing with his flashlight in his hand. He examined the ancient plumbing system that had been uncovered during the morning work. What had started as a routine inspection had revealed an unexpected complication. The original pipes were embedded in the foundation in a manner not depicted on any of the blueprints.
“Pass me the camera, would you, Wade?” he called to his foreman.
Wade handed down a digital camera that they used to document discoveries.
“How bad is it?”
“Not catastrophic, but definitely a redesign,” he said, carefully photographing the pipe configuration from multiple angles. “We’re going to need to reroute the new plumbing instead of running it where we planned.”
After taking sufficient documentation, Thomas made his way back to the access point, emerging dusty but relieved that they had caught the issue before proceeding with the installation.
“Let’s get these images to Isabella and the plumbing contractor,” he said. “We’re going to need to revise those plans before tomorrow’s work begins.”
Wade headed off with the photos, and Thomas brushed the worst of the dirt from his clothes before making his way to the makeshift office Isabella had set up in what would become the inn’s library. Eventually, he found her deep in conversation with Luella, looking over menus for the inn’s future restaurant.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but we found something you should know about.”
She looked up, her expression shifting from annoyance at the interruption to concern when she saw his dirt-smudged appearance.
“Oh no, what happened? Is it serious?”
“Not serious, but it does require attention,” he said. “The original plumbing is configured differently from what the blueprints indicated. We’ll need to revise our installation plans.”
Luella chuckled. “I told you those old blueprints weren’t reliable. The east wing was renovated in 1926 without any proper documentation. My grandma used to complain about the plumbers cursing under the floorboards for weeks.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Your institutional memory continues to be our secret weapon, Luella.”
“Well, it’s no secret,” the old woman replied with a hint of pride.
“Isabella has been picking my brain about everything from kitchen layouts to staff quarters and learning more than any blueprint could tell me,” Luella said. She looked back at Thomas. “What do we need to do about the plumbing issue?”
“Wade’s uploading the photos now. I’ll have to revise the plans for you before tomorrow morning, but it’s going to add some cost and maybe even a few days to the schedule.”
