Page 60 of The Wexley Inn
Friday evening arrived with the most perfect early autumn weather. Clear skies, a gentle breeze, and temperatures mild enough in the Lowcountry to be comfortable for outdoor dining. Isabella carefully dressed for her dinner with Thomas, selecting a simple blue linen dress that complemented her coloring without looking overly formal.
When he arrived precisely at seven, he looked handsome in his khakis and sport coat, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tamed from his usual workday style. It reminded her of their much younger days, when he would pick her up for a date.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied, accepting the compliment. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Thomas Langley.”
He drove them not to one of the island’s restaurants she had expected, but to a small marina on the western shore. A modest sailboat awaited them.
“Dinner on the water?” she asked, pleasantly surprised.
“If that’s okay.” He nodded. “It’s the perfect evening for sailing, and there’s a cove I thought you might enjoy. Nothing fancy, just simple food in a beautiful setting. If that’s?—”
“Well, it sounds wonderful,” Isabella assured him.
The sailboat proved to be Thomas’s own, a well-maintained vessel, as any of his personal belongings would be. He handled it with practiced ease, navigating out of the marina and into the open water beyond, raising the sails to catch the gentle breeze.
“I didn’t know you sailed,” Isabella said, as they glided smoothly across the water, the island’s shoreline receding behind them.
“Oh, it’s been a passion since just after college, though I didn’t have much time for it when Emma was young. But these past few years, I’ve rediscovered the pleasure of being on the water.”
Isabella found herself enjoying the peaceful movement of the boat and the opportunity to see Thomas in a different context - relaxed, engaged with something he clearly loved. They talked easily as they sailed, their conversation flowing naturally between observations about the beauty of the coastline and personal topics, like books they’d enjoyed recently, places they’d traveled since college, and experiences that had shaped them over the years.
After about forty minutes of sailing, he guided the boat into a sheltered cove surrounded by marsh grass and ancient oaks.
“This is breathtaking,” Isabella said.
“One of my favorite spots,” he agreed as he dropped anchor. “Feels removed from everything, but it’s only a short sail from the marina.”
From a small cabin below deck, he carried up an insulated basket with their dinner - local specialties like shrimp caught that morning, fresh bread from the island bakery, and seasonal vegetables from the farmer’s market that he’d cooked himself at home. A bottle of white wine completed the simple yet thoughtful meal.
They dined as the sun set, watching the spectacular colors across the sky reflect off the water around them. They continued talking, and the conversation flowed easily, as if the thirty years hadn’t passed since their college relationship ended.
“So, when did you know you definitely wanted to focus on historical restoration? You were studying architectural design in college with plans for building new construction.”
Thomas wiped his mouth. “It evolved gradually after I came back to the island. I started with small renovation projects while Emma was young, you know, work that I could schedule around her needs. And then I realized I had a certain sensitivity to the character of these old buildings.” He smiled slightly. “Of course, my father’s influence. He treated these historic properties with such respect.”
“Well, it suits you,” she said. “The patience, the attention to detail, the respect for history.”
“What about you? Corporate hotel management is definitely different from restoring a historic inn. What made you decide to make that change?”
Isabella looked out over the darkening water, gathering her thoughts.
“I had achieved everything I set out to accomplish professionally. I had all the titles, the responsibilities, and the respect of my peers, but I always felt like something was missing. I was maintaining other people’s visions, but never creating my own.” She looked back at Thomas. “When the opportunity to purchase the inn appeared, it felt like the right moment to just build something that truly reflected my values and not some corporate list of priorities.”
“And has it met your expectations?” he asked. “The inn project, I mean.”
“Oh, it exceeded them,” she said. “Not just the renovation, although that’s been very satisfying so far, but the connections that I’ve made here with the community and the building’s history and the people who share my vision.” She looked at him directly. “And with you.”
There was a quiet moment of intimacy between them. Thomas reached across the small table between them and took her hand.
“I never expected to find you again,” he said softly. “Certainly not here, not like this. It feels like a second chance I don’t deserve, but I’m very grateful for.”
“Well, maybe we both needed the years between,” she said, “to become the people who could appreciate this opportunity.”
The feeling of his hand in hers felt so familiar, yet so new.
He nodded, his thumb tracing gentle patterns across her knuckles. “Wise as always, Isabella Montgomery.”
