Page 21 of The Wexley Inn
“You know, I’d better check the tarps one more time before I go,” Thomas said finally.
“Oh, of course,” Isabella said, nodding. “And I appreciate you staying to help with that leak. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, it’s my project too,” Thomas replied. “I wouldn’t leave anyone to deal with that alone.”
Something in his tone - perhaps the emphasis on alone - made Isabella wonder if he was referring to more than just a ceiling leak. But before she could analyze it further, her phone chimed again with another text.
“It’s Daphne Chen,” she explained. “The interior designer I’m interviewing tomorrow. She’s asking if we can reschedule due to the storm damage.”
“Is she local?”
“Charleston. She was planning to drive over in the morning.”
“Oh, the causeway will be clear by then, but she might have trouble getting a visitor’s pass if the guard station power is still out. They can be sticklers about procedure.”
Isabella typed a quick reply suggesting they keep the appointment, but have a backup plan to meet in Charleston if access to the island was difficult.
“She comes highly recommended for historic properties. I hope she’ll be a good fit for the project.”
“I’ve seen her work,” Thomas said. “She did the Dillon House renovation in Charleston last year. Beautiful balance of period-appropriate details with modern functionality.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I’m looking for. The inn needs to honor the history, but without feeling like a museum. Guests do expect some modern comforts.”
“It’s a delicate balance,” Thomas agreed, “but when it’s done right, it creates something special. You know, a place visitors connect with history but also meets their contemporary needs.”
Their shared vision reminded Isabella why they connected so deeply in college. They had complementary perspectives on architecture, preservation, and the excitement of reimagining spaces while respecting their origins. Despite everything that had happened between them, they still shared a compatibility in their professional outlooks that remained unchanged.
The lights suddenly flickered once, twice, and then remained on; the power was unexpectedly restored.
“Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,” Isabella said.
“Oh, don’t get too excited,” Thomas warned. “Island power is notoriously fickle after storms. It could go right back out again.”
As if on cue, the lights flickered again and went dark once more.
“Well, you called that one,” Isabella said, laughing.
He joined her in laughter, and the moment of shared amusement temporarily bridged the careful distance they’d maintained.
“You know, some things about island life never change. Power companies improved over the years, but the storms still tax the system.”
“I should probably head back to my cottage before the roads flood again,” Isabella said, although she felt slightly reluctant to end their time together.
“Good idea. Do you have any candles or flashlights there?”
“Oh yeah, I stocked up after Maggie warned me about how the island’s electrical system often worked.”
“That’s a smart woman, Maggie,” Thomas said, reaching for his jacket. “She doesn’t miss much.”
They walked to the front door together, listening to the rain. It was now more of a trickle. The storm had passed its peak, and there was a steady drizzle without the dramatic lightning and thunder of earlier.
“Thanks again for your help with the ceiling,” Isabella said as they stepped onto the porch. “I’m not sure what I would have done on my own.”
“Oh, you would have figured it out. You were always resourceful.”
The use of always, a reference to their shared past, hung between them in the air. It was the closest either of them had come to directly acknowledging their history outside of that first very awkward meeting. Isabella didn’t know how to respond, so she nodded and moved toward the steps.
“Good night, Thomas.”
