Page 3 of The Wexley Inn
“So I’ve set up a meeting for you with him tomorrow morning,” Gerald said, oblivious to the fact that she was losing her mind and having the world’s worst internal panic attack. “Nine o’clock at the inn. I hope that’s okay.”
“Wait, you’ve already contacted him?” She tried to keep her voice from sounding like a shrieking alarm bell.
“Of course.” Gerald looked surprised. “Property like the inn, that’s big news on a small island. He knows it’s being renovated, and he’s the logical choice for the job.”
She took a deep breath, trying to center herself, trying desperately to remember all those meditation classes she took. It didn’t seem to be helping her much right now.
She was no longer that naïve twenty-two-year-old college student whose world had been shattered when Thomas Langley had walked away without any explanation whatsoever. She was a successful businesswoman with decades of experience handling all kinds of difficult situations, and she would handle Thomas Langley.
“That’s fine,” she said, her voice sounding way steadier than she actually felt, “and I appreciate your help setting that up.”
As she left the bank, Isabella walked straight to her car, closed the door, and blew out the most extended breath of her life.
Of all the complications she had anticipated, running into Thomas hadn’t even been on the list. Why would it? What were the chances he’d still be on this small island after all these years?
She looked at the business card in her hand.
Langley Restoration.
The logo featured a little historic home with meticulous detailing, just the kind of attention to craftsmanship she remembered him displaying in their architectural projects.
Isabella started the car and was determined not to let this development derail her plans. She would meet with Thomas tomorrow and maintain strict professionalism. Who knows, maybe he wouldn’t even remember her. Of course, that was unlikely given their long relationship in college.
She was determined to focus on what mattered - bringing The Wexley Inn back to life. And if he were the best contractor for the job, she’d hire him, despite their personal history. After all, it had been thirty years, and they were probably both different people now.
Whatever had been between them was long gone, relegated to the past, like the faded old photographs she had packed away decades ago. He was probably married with kids, and she had her own life going on, as well. There was no need to let the past get in the way.
By the time she arrived at her rental cottage, a charming one-bedroom bungalow closer to The Palms than The Dunes, she had convinced herself that the meeting would be nothing more than a professional discussion between two people.
She spent the evening unpacking her essentials and creating a vision board for the inn on the dining table, pinning various fabric swatches, color themes, and photographs of the historic hotel interiors that inspired her. The physical activity helped keep her mind off the impending reunion. Of course, she could do all of this online, maybe even create a Pinterest board, but Isabella was old-school.
As twilight fell, she stepped onto the small porch with a glass of sweet tea in her hand and watched as fireflies danced among the oak trees.
Despite her anxiety, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of rightness about being here, finally. This was her chance to create something meaningful, something that was truly hers, and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stand in her way, not even Thomas Langley and the ghosts of what might have been if he hadn’t run away all those years ago.
She took one final sip of her tea and went inside to get ready for bed.
Tomorrow would be challenging, but she was ready, because she had to be. There was no other choice.
CHAPTER 2
Thomas Langley woke before dawn, as he most always did. The last remnants of moonlight were still filtering through the plantation shutters of his bedroom window, casting striped shadows across the hardwood floors that desperately needed refinishing. It was funny how contractors could handle everybody else’s work but always left their own to the end of the list.
He lay still for a moment, listening to the crickets and frogs that served as Wexley Island’s natural alarm clock. The humid air drifting through his windows carried the familiar scents of jasmine and salt marsh - smells that usually comforted him but today felt heavy with the weight of impending confrontation.
He’d had trouble sleeping for most of the night, his mind circling relentlessly around the information Gerald Stewart had shared yesterday afternoon when they were on the golf course.
“Isabella Montgomery,” Gerald had said casually, lining up his putt. “That’s the name of the woman who bought the old inn. Apparently, she’s some retired hotel executive for one of those big luxury chains. She’s meeting with you tomorrow morning to talk about renovations.”
The name had hit Thomas like a physical blow, causing him to miss his own putt by several inches.
“Hey, something wrong with your swing today?” Gerald had asked, looking up from retrieving his ball.
“No, I just thought I recognized that name,” he said, struggling to keep his composure, “but I must be mistaken. It’s a pretty common name.”
He knew he wasn’t mistaken. There couldn’t be two Isabella Montgomerys in the hotel industry, both with ties to South Carolina. It had to be her - the woman he had walked away from three decades ago, making what was both the most honorable and most heartbreaking decision of his life.
Thomas had watched Isabella’s career growth for years, sometimes checking her out on social media or reading articles about her rapid climb through different companies in trade magazines.
