Page 36 of The Wexley Inn
“Absolutely,” she said.
They navigated back through the narrow channel into the main creek and then followed a different branch that led toward the ocean side of the island. After about fifteen minutes, they rounded the bend and were facing a small, secluded beach accessible only by water.
“Another hidden gem,” she said as they beached their kayaks on the pristine white sand.
“This one’s a bit more widely known among islanders,” he explained. “Local teenagers have been coming here for bonfires for generations, despite it technically being against island regulations.”
“Rebellious island youth,” Isabella laughed. “Every paradise needs a forbidden fruit.”
They walked along the shoreline where the receding tide had left behind perfect sand dollars and delicate whelk shells. The beach was sheltered by dunes covered with sea oats that swayed gently in the ocean breeze.
Isabella became acutely aware of Thomas beside her - the way he moved easily across the sand, how he automatically adjusted his longer stride to match hers, and how he pointed out interesting shells with the same enthusiasm he'd once shown for architectural details. It felt dangerously like old times, before everything had gone wrong.
“I thought this could be a good location for a staff appreciation event before the inn opens,” he suggested. “You know, something casual to thank everybody who’s worked on the renovation before the formal celebration.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” she agreed immediately. “Something simple but meaningful, you know, a beach bonfire, good food, maybe some music.”
“Exactly - the construction crew, Daphne and her team, the staff you’re hiring - bringing everybody together to celebrate what they’ve accomplished.”
“I love it,” Isabella said, smiling, “and I appreciate you thinking of it. The success of the inn will depend on the people who create it, not just the building itself.”
They continued walking, collecting interesting shells, and discussing logistics for the event and the grand opening.
“So what made you decide to leave corporate hotels?” Thomas asked when they paused to watch a pod of dolphins playing in the distance. “You were at the top of your field, from what I understand.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. “I had achieved everything I set out to accomplish professionally - regional director by forty, oversight of some of the most prestigious properties in the company’s portfolio, the respect of my colleagues and the board.” She looked directly at him. “But I felt like I was slowly fading into other people’s expectations. Every day was about maintaining someone else’s vision, meeting someone else’s benchmarks, and building someone else’s legacy. I woke up one morning and realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had created something that was truly mine. Although now I’m finding that the idea of something being, ‘completely mine’ is a little bit of an illusion. The inn belongs to history, to the island, and to the people who will bring it back to life - like you and your crew, Daphne, Luella.”
“The best projects are always collaborative,” he said. “Though it takes a strong central vision to guide them, and that’s what you bring.”
“What about you?” she asked after a moment. “Did you always plan on returning to the island after college to focus on restoration work?”
It was a natural question, but it brushed against the edges of their shared history. He tried to figure out how to answer without going into territory neither of them had explicitly agreed to discuss.
“Not at first,” he said. “I had offers from architectural firms in Charleston and Savannah after graduation, but circumstances, well, they changed. So coming back to the island made sense at that time, and I realized I had a knack for restoration work. I guess it was my father’s influence.”
She nodded, recognizing the subtle deflection for what it was. Thomas had always been private about difficult topics, but there was something in his tone - a weight that suggested those 'changed circumstances' had been more significant than he was letting on. “Do you ever regret not pursuing traditional architecture? You were so talented.”
“Sometimes,” he admitted, “especially in those early years. But there’s something deeply satisfying about bringing historic buildings back to life, about preserving that craftsmanship that would otherwise be lost.” He pointed toward the horizon. “And I can’t imagine raising Emma anywhere else. The island has its limitations, but it sure is a special place to grow up.”
“She’s remarkable,” Isabella said. “You did an amazing job with her, especially, you know, after your wife passed.”
The careful way she referenced Sarah suggested Emma had shared at least some details of their family history during her visit. He felt a mix of emotion - appreciation for Isabella’s sensitivity, sadness at the mention of Sarah, and a strange relief that this part of his life wasn’t entirely unknown to Isabella.
“Thank you,” he said. “It wasn’t always easy, but Emma made it worthwhile. She’s the very best thing in my life.”
They walked in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own private thoughts.
“We should head back soon,” Thomas said reluctantly. “The tide will start coming in, and it’s easier to navigate these creeks before dusk.”
As they returned to their kayaks, Isabella stopped and looked over the peaceful beach one more time. “Thank you for showing me these places, Thomas. I feel like I understand the island better now, and why it means so very much to you.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Sometimes the most important parts of a place are the ones that don’t appear on any map.”
As they paddled back, it was peaceful, both of them pointing out wildlife and interesting features of the landscape. As they approached the dock behind the inn, Thomas noticed a familiar figure waiting for them - Grayson Williams. Impeccably dressed, as always, in casual designer wear that probably cost more than most people’s formal attire.
“Uh-oh, looks like you have a visitor,” Thomas said, nodding toward the dock.
She followed his gaze, her expression shifting from relaxed to professional in an instant. “Ugh, Grayson. I wonder what brings him by without an appointment.”
