Page 59 of The Wexley Inn
When they finished their business, a brief silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was filled with the feeling of unspoken words. Thomas appeared about to say something beyond their professional discussion when Daphne arrived, accompanied by a delivery person carrying fabric samples.
“Perfect timing,” Daphne said, unaware of the moment she had just interrupted. “The mill sent these advance samples for the custom upholstery fabrics. I wanted to see the actual colors before they began production.”
Thomas excused himself and went back to the dining room, leaving Isabella to examine the fabric samples with Daphne. As he left, his gaze briefly met Isabella’s, conveying something—perhaps regret over the interrupted moment, or maybe he was just glad to get out of there. She had no idea if he was developing feelings like she was. Right now, all she felt was an uneasy sensation in her stomach.
The remainder of the day passed in a blur of activity, including fabric approvals and staff reference checks. By late afternoon, Isabella found herself mentally exhausted but satisfied with the day’s progress.
As the workday ended and the construction crew began to leave, Isabella took a final walk through the property, noted the day’s accomplishments, and set her priorities for the next morning. The inn was shifting from a construction site into a coherent building, with finished spaces starting to outnumber those still under renovation.
She found Thomas in his makeshift workshop set up in what would become the storage room, carefully restoring an original newel post from the main staircase. His focus was complete, and his hands moved with the practiced precision of someone who had spent decades mastering his craft. Isabella paused in the doorway, watched him work for a moment, and then announced her presence. There was something compelling about observing how absorbed he was in the task, the reverence with which he handled the historic wood, restoring it to its original beauty with patient, skilled effort.
“That’s coming along beautifully,” she finally said, stepping into the room.
He looked up and smiled. “It’s responding well to restoration. The wood is sound underneath years of paint and neglect.”
“Rather like the inn itself,” she said, walking over to look at his work more closely.
“Exactly like that,” Thomas said. “Good bones, just needing the right care to reveal its true character again.”
Isabella ran her finger lightly over the partially restored newel post, feeling the smooth sections he had already refinished. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me,” she said quietly, and a little more spontaneously than she had intended. “About why you ended things between us all those years ago.”
Thomas set down his tools to give his full attention.
“And, well, I understand why you made the choice you did,” she continued, meeting his gaze. “Accepting responsibility for your child, being present for Emma - those were all honorable decisions, and I would have expected nothing less from you even back then.”
“Well, thank you for saying that,” he said, looking both relieved and still regretful. “Though I wish I’d been honest with you at the time.”
She nodded. “The truth would have been painful but less confusing than believing that what we had meant nothing to you.”
“It meant everything,” Thomas said softly. “Leaving you was the hardest decision I ever made in my life.”
The simple honesty of the statement hung in the air between them.
“So where does that leave us now?” Isabella asked, the directness of her question surprising both of them.
Thomas thought for a moment before responding. “Well, that depends on what you want, Isabella. We’ve both lived full lives in the years since. We’re different people than we were then, but I’ve come to care for you again - or maybe still - in ways that definitely go beyond this professional collaboration.”
The admission touched Isabella. It reflected the same consideration he always had when he approached his restorations.
“I’ve developed feelings for you, too,” she said. “But I’m cautious. We’re in the midst of an important project, one that matters a lot to both of us, and complications could certainly jeopardize that.”
“I understand,” Thomas nodded. “The inn deserves our best work, no matter what’s going on in our personal lives.”
“And yet,” Isabella continued, “I definitely don’t want to ignore what’s happening here either. Maybe we could take our time, be mindful of our professional responsibilities, but remain open to the possibility of something more.”
A smile spread across his face, warming his blue eyes. “I’d like that very much.”
There were no dramatic declarations or impulsive actions, just two mature adults trying to acknowledge their past and present at the same time.
“I should go,” Isabella said finally. “Early meeting tomorrow with the landscape designer.”
“Of course,” Thomas said. “Though before you go, would you like to have dinner with me Friday night? Not to discuss work - just dinner.”
“I’d like that,” she said with a smile. “Where should we meet?”
“Let me surprise you,” he said. “I know a place I think you’ll enjoy.”
As Isabella drove home, she felt a sense of lightness that had been absent in recent years. The conversation had been brief but significant. She wondered what would come of this second chance at a relationship with Thomas. It was a little terrifying, but worth the risk.
