Page 44 of The Wexley Inn
“What kind of change?” he asked, giving her his full attention.
“Well, I think I might leave the agency and start my own marketing consultancy. You know, focus on specifically helping traditional businesses develop authentic digital presences without losing their core identity.”
“Well, that sounds perfectly aligned with your skills and interests. What’s holding you back?”
She reeled in her line slowly. “Honestly, fear of disappointing you. You’ve always been so proud of my corporate success, you know, my steady climb up the ladder.”
“Emma,” Thomas said, surprised. “I’m proud of you, no matter where you work or what title you hold. I’m proud of you for your intelligence, your integrity, and your creativity. Those qualities will serve you well, whether you’re in a corporate setting or running your own business.”
“Really?” She looked at him directly. “You wouldn’t think I was being impulsive or taking an unnecessary risk?”
“Taking thoughtful risks is how we grow,” he said. “I took a risk coming back to this island to start my own restoration business when everybody thought I was going to establish an architectural firm. It wasn’t the conventional path, but it was right for me and for our family.”
She nodded, relaxing. “That’s part of what inspired me, actually. Watching Isabella take a similar risk with the inn, you know, leaving her corporate success. It made me realize I want to have that same sense of ownership and purpose to my work.”
“Well, then you should pursue it,” he said. “You have the skills, the connections, and the vision to make it successful, and I’ll always support you however I can.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said. “That means more than you know.”
Thomas felt a pull on his line, which interrupted the moment.
“Hey, I think I’ve got something,” he said, starting to reel in what proved to be a pretty respectable redfish.
They spent the next few hours catching fish, releasing most of them but keeping two for dinner, and discussing Emma’s business plans in more detail. They enjoyed the pristine beauty of the tidal ecosystem, and by the time they were headed back to the dock, Thomas felt the day had already been a success, no matter what the evening would bring.
As they cleaned their catch at the dock’s fish cleaning station, Emma returned to the subject of dinner with Isabella.
“You know, I was thinking we could grill the fish with some of those herbs from your garden. Simple but impressive. Oh, and maybe that rice pilaf that you make that everybody loves.”
“Sounds good,” Thomas said, focusing on filleting the fish. “What time did you tell her to come?”
“Seven. That gives us lots of time to clean up and prepare everything.” Emma studied her father’s face. “So are you nervous about tonight?”
He considered denying it but opted for honesty. “I guess a little bit. Our interactions have been mostly professional, you know, with clear boundaries, but this feels different.”
“Oh, it’s just dinner, Dad,” Emma said. “And I’ll be there to buffer. You know, no pressure, just good food and conversation.”
He nodded but wasn’t totally convinced he was willing to trust his daughter’s judgment. “Just remember your promise. No obvious matchmaking.”
“Yes, subtle matchmaking only. Got it,” Emma said with a mischievous smile.
Thomas rolled his eyes.
By six-thirty, his cottage had been transformed from its usual bachelor state to something that looked more welcoming. Emma had insisted on fresh flowers for the table, proper cloth napkins instead of paper ones, and softly playing background music.
“It’s not a formal dinner party. You act like we’re at Maggie’s house,” Thomas protested as Emma adjusted the table setting for the third time. “Isabella won’t care if the napkins are perfectly straight.”
“Details matter,” Emma said. “And it’s not just about impressing her. It’s about creating a welcoming atmosphere for conversation.”
He raised an eyebrow at his daughter’s enthusiasm but didn’t argue anymore. The fish was marinating, the rice pilaf was prepared, and a simple salad was waiting in the refrigerator. Everything was ready except maybe Thomas himself. He had changed his clothes twice before settling on a blue button-down shirt that Emma once told him brought out his eyes, paired with his best jeans. Nothing fancy, but a step up from his usual work attire. He had even trimmed his beard, a maintenance task he often neglected when he was busy.
At precisely seven o’clock, the doorbell rang. Thomas took a deep breath, suddenly feeling absurdly nervous for what was, as Emma pointed out, just dinner with a colleague.
Isabella stood on the porch, looking casually elegant in white jeans and a soft teal blouse, her honey-blonde hair loose around her shoulders instead of up in its usual professional style. Thomas found himself momentarily speechless. He'd grown used to professional Isabella - hair pulled back, work clothes, focused intensity. This relaxed version reminded him painfully of the girl he knew in college, and the decades between them seemed to collapse for a heartbeat. She held a bottle of wine in one hand and a small gift bag in the other.
“Right on time,” he said, stepping back to welcome her inside. “Please come in.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” she said, handing him the wine. “I hope white is okay. I thought it might pair well with fish.”
