Page 6 of The Wexley Inn
“The upstairs floor will need to be reinforced to meet some modern safety codes, if you’re having guests,” Thomas said. “And the plumbing throughout is absolutely ancient. Complete replacement there.”
“What about electrical?”
“Same. Full rewiring, I’m afraid. That can be done without damaging the plaster, if we’re very careful, but it certainly won’t be cheap.”
They moved carefully through each room, the initial awkwardness fading into a shared professional focus. Thomas was impressed by Isabella’s knowledge and the effort she clearly put into planning the renovation. She understood both the practical and aesthetic challenges of the project.
When they reached the third floor, she pointed out water damage on the ceiling. “Luella mentioned a leak that was never properly fixed.”
“Oh, Luella told you about that?” Thomas asked, surprised.
“Yes, she was quite, shall we say, informative when I arrived yesterday.” Isabella’s tone was dry. “She also told me that she comes with the property, which my real estate agent conveniently failed to mention to me.”
Thomas couldn’t help but smile. “You know, Luella has outlasted three owners. I don’t think anybody has seriously tried to make her leave since old Mr. Preston back in the nineties. That didn’t end well for him.”
“Oh?” Isabella said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, let’s just say Mr. Preston discovered that the health department takes anonymous complaints about restaurant code violations very seriously.” Thomas smiled. “Especially when they come from someone who knows every detail of the kitchen’s operation.”
Isabella laughed, a genuine sound that momentarily bridged the gap of the years between them. “I suspected she might be a formidable opponent, so I’m thinking it might be wiser to just consider her an ally.”
The sound of her laughter hit him like a physical blow. He’d forgotten how her laugh could light up a room, how it used to make him feel like the luckiest man alive.“You’re very wise indeed,” Thomas said.
They finished their inspection on the back porch, where he pointed out the areas of structural concern.
“Well, overall, I think it’s in better shape than I expected,” he said, looking at his notes. “The foundation is solid. Most of the issues seem to be cosmetic, or they are systems that would need updating regardless. It’s definitely a significant project, but doable.”
“And is it a project that you’d be interested in taking on?” Isabella asked very directly, meeting his eyes for perhaps the first time since he arrived. When their eyes met, Thomas felt the familiar jolt he'd experienced the first time he'd seen her in Professor Martinez's architectural history class. Thirty years, and she could still knock the breath out of him with a single look.
He held her gaze, carefully considering his response. Working with Isabella would mean months of regular contact, managing not only the complexities of this major renovation but also their tangled personal history. The wisest choice would be to suggest someone else, perhaps another contractor from Charleston. However, The Wexley Inn deserved the best restoration possible. And despite their past, he knew he was the right person for the job.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d be interested. I’d need to work up a detailed estimate, of course, and a timeline. And there are the review board approvals to consider.”
“I understand,” she said, nodding. “So how long will it take to prepare a proposal?”
“Two weeks should suffice. I’d want my structural engineer to come in for a thorough assessment first.”
“That sounds reasonable,” she said, closing her notebook. “Just to be clear, Thomas, this is a professional relationship. Whatever happened between us in the past is irrelevant to this project.”
She delivered the statement calmly, but Thomas didn’t miss the hint of steel beneath her words.
“Of course, agreed,” he said. “The inn deserves our best work, regardless of personal history.”
As he got ready to leave, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel drive. Through the window, he saw Vivian Pierce approaching the front door, impeccably dressed as she always was, in a cream linen suit, even though it was getting hotter by the moment.
“Seems you have another visitor,” Thomas said. “Vivian Pierce. She’s vice president of the Lowcountry Ladies Club and the self-appointed guardian of anything to do with Wexley Island.”
Isabella looked out the window. “Well, I’ve done my research on the key island residents, and she’s on the architectural review board as well, right?”
“And six other committees,” he said. “She’ll be very interested in your plans for the inn. Very interested.”
“Yeah, I’m getting the impression that that’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Well, let’s just say Vivian has strong opinions about how things need to be done on this island. She and I have had our, shall we say, ‘professional disagreements’ over the years.”
Isabella straightened her shoulders. He remembered that gesture well from their university days when she was preparing to face a difficult presentation or professor.
“Well, I guess I’d better make a good impression then.”
