Page 37 of The Wexley Inn
“Nothing good, if history is any indication,” Thomas said dryly.
They beached their kayaks near the dock, and Thomas helped Isabella secure hers before they approached Grayson. He looked impatient.
“Isabella,” he greeted her with practiced charm, deliberately ignoring Thomas. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Your phone appears to be off.”
“I was showing Isabella some of the island’s natural features,” Thomas said. “Cell reception is spotty in the creeks.”
“Well, how… rustic,” Grayson said with a thin smile, turning his attention back to Isabella. “I want to discuss the architectural review board meeting scheduled for next week. There are some concerns about your plans, and I thought we might address them privately.”
She maintained her composure, though Thomas could see the exhaustion in her eyes. “I appreciate your interest, Grayson, but my plans have been thoroughly prepared following all preservation guidelines, and Thomas and I will be presenting them together at the meeting.”
“Yeah, well, that’s exactly what I want to discuss,” he persisted. “There’s a feeling among the board members that the proposed changes to the kitchen and bathroom facilities might be excessive. I think maybe we can find a compromise before the formal meeting.”
Thomas recognized this strategy immediately - divide and conquer. Get Isabella to agree to modifications without her technical advisor present.
“Any concerns can be addressed at the meeting itself,” Isabella said firmly. “That’s what it’s for, after all. Our plans include detailed explanations for all elements.”
Grayson’s expression hardened. “I’m only trying to help, Isabella. The board can be difficult with newcomers, especially when they’re linked to contractors who have a history of challenging our island’s traditions.”
The pointed look he gave Thomas made the personal nature of the comment unmistakable, but Thomas kept his expression neutral, refusing to take the bait.
“I appreciate your concern,” Isabella said, her tone cool. “But I’m confident in our plans and Thomas’s expertise. If there are technical questions, we’re happy to address them now with you as a board member.”
This direct challenge, calling Grayson’s bluff about having actual concerns rather than simply trying to undermine their position, was masterfully executed. Thomas had to push back a smile as Grayson backpedaled.
“Oh, no, no, nothing specific right now, just a general sense among some members that the scope might be a little ambitious.” He glanced at his expensive watch. “I should be going. I have a dinner engagement at the club. We’ll continue this conversation at the meeting, I guess.”
After he left, Isabella turned to Thomas with a raised eyebrow. “Well, what was that really about?”
“Grayson’s been circling the historic district like a shark for years, snapping up properties when owners get overwhelmed by renovation costs or regulatory hurdles. The inn would be his ultimate prize - tear it down, build some modern monstrosity, and call it ‘respectful development.’”
“As I mentioned before, he made me an offer shortly after I arrived, quite generous financially, but completely at odds with my vision for the property.”
“Well, that explains his persistence,” Thomas nodded. “If he can’t buy it outright, the next best thing is to control what you can do with it through the review board.”
She sighed, some of the day’s peaceful mood evaporating. “Just when I was starting to feel like I was making progress with the island community.”
“You are,” he assured her. “Grayson represents a particular faction, but not the majority. Your work at Maggie’s garden party did exactly what it needed to do: build support among the influential residents.”
She nodded, though concern still showed on her face. “I should prepare more documents for the review board meeting. If Grayson is already working behind the scenes, we need to be completely prepared.” A shadow passed over her face. “I can’t afford to lose this project, Thomas. I’ve invested everything in it.”
“Good strategy,” Thomas said. “I’ll have my team compile photographs of similar historical renovations that were approved in Savannah and Charleston as precedents.”
They walked back toward the inn. At the entrance, Isabella paused. “Thank you again for today,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Not just for showing me those beautiful places, but for helping me navigate Grayson and all these island politics. I’m not sure I could manage this project without your insight.”
“You would find a way,” he said with a smile, “but I’m glad to help. The inn deserves the best chance at proper restoration.”
As she headed inside to gather her things, Thomas stayed on the porch for a minute, watching the last rays of sunlight filter through the oak trees. The afternoon had shifted something between them, not dramatically, but perceptively. The careful professional distance they’d maintained had softened a bit into something more genuine. A tentative friendship built on the appreciation for the island and the commitment to the inn.
It wasn’t the passionate connection they once shared as young adults, but Thomas didn’t expect it to be again. Too much life had happened in between, too many choices made and paths taken. There was value in this careful partnership they were building - professional respect seasoned with shared history, collaboration that honored what they'd once meant to each other without demanding more than either was ready to give.
But as Thomas walked to his truck, he couldn't shake the feeling that 'enough' was becoming a harder boundary to hold with each passing day. Isabella's laughter echoing across the hidden cove, her hand brushing his when he'd helped her from the kayak, the way she'd looked at him when he'd almost said too much about their shared vision...
Perhaps some foundations, once disturbed, refused to return to their original positions. Maybe some stories demanded to be finished, regardless of how carefully you tried to leave them buried.
The question was whether he was brave enough - or foolish enough - to find out which kind of story theirs really was.
CHAPTER 10
