Page 22 of The Wexley Inn
“Good night,” he said. “Drive carefully. There could be branches down on the road.”
As she made her way to the car parked behind Luella’s cottage, she found herself thinking about the unexpected turn the evening had taken. What had begun as a simple cooking lesson had evolved into a shared crisis, revealing glimpses of the Thomas she had once known so well.
The question that had been hovering at the edges of their minds since she discovered his presence on the island now resurfaced. Why had he really ended things with them? What had changed so suddenly that summer to turn a passionate love for each other into an abrupt goodbye?
Luella’s cryptic comment about Thomas always doing what he thought was right, even at his own personal cost, suggested there was more to the story.
After all these years, did it even matter? They were different people now. They had separate lives and experiences that had shaped them.
Yet, as she drove carefully through the rain-slicked streets toward her cottage, Isabella couldn't shake the memory of that moment in the bathroom - standing so close to Thomas in the candlelight, feeling like no time had passed at all. The careful professional distance they maintained felt more fragile with each passing day.
Luella was right about some storms lingering while others passed through quickly. Isabella was beginning to suspect that what lay between her and Thomas wasn't the kind of storm that would simply blow over. Some tempests, once stirred up, demanded to be weathered completely before there could be any real peace.
For now, she had an inn to restore and a ceiling to repair. But increasingly, she wondered if healing the old building might also require healing the old wounds.
CHAPTER 6
Thomas had been awake for hours as sleep proved elusive. The memories of the past and present-day concerns tangled up in his mind as the morning light filtered through the trees outside his bedroom window.
Today marked fifteen years since Sarah’s passing, and it was a date he always approached with quiet reflection rather than outwardly mourning. He dressed in a clean button-down shirt and khakis, nothing formal but respectful of his annual visit to the small island cemetery, and he moved through his morning routine, automatically brewing coffee and toasting a slice of sourdough bread that Emma had brought from her favorite Atlanta bakery.
Emma.
He looked at the clock, wondering if his daughter would remember the day. She almost always did, though they rarely discussed it directly. Their shared grief had changed over the years into a more gentle remembrance, focused on honoring Sarah’s life rather than dwelling on her absence.
As he sipped his coffee on the back deck and watched the morning mist rise from the tidal creek, he found his thoughts drifting to Isabella and their unexpected connection during yesterday’s storm. The moment when she’d steadied him, her hand so warm on his arm, her face so close to his in the candlelight - it had brought back feelings he thought were long dormant.
The sound of his phone ringing pulled him from the reflection, and he saw Emma’s name flashing on the screen.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he answered as he moved back inside.
“Hey, Dad.” Her voice was warm but definitely held a note of sadness. “I just wanted to check in, you know, see how you’re doing today. I wish I could…”
So she had remembered.
“I’m okay,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I’m going to visit the cemetery this morning.”
“I wish I could be there,” she said, “but this client meeting was scheduled months ago, or I would have come down for the whole weekend.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your mom would be the first to tell you business comes first on a day like this. You know how practical she was.”
Emma laughed softly. “You know, she really was. Remember when she made us all go to that Chamber of Commerce dinner on the night after her second chemo treatment? She’d said she felt awful either way, so she might as well be productive and support local businesses.”
“Oh, she was stubborn that way,” Thomas said, smiling at the memory. “So how are you doing today?”
“I’m all right. It gets a little easier each year, doesn’t it? I mean, not forgetting. You just… I think the sharp edges smooth out somewhat.”
“I guess that’s a good way to put it,” Thomas said.
They talked for a few more minutes about Emma’s upcoming meeting and her plans to visit the island again soon. As they were about to hang up, Emma paused for a moment and then asked, “Have you seen much of Isabella since I left? With the renovation?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied. “There was a minor crisis during yesterday’s storm. Part of the ceiling gave way in one of the bathrooms, but we worked together to contain the damage as best we could.”
“Oh, so just the two of you?” Emma’s tone was neutral, but he could hear a little bit of concern beneath the question.
“Luella was there, too. Well, for part of it,” he said. “Emma, it was strictly professional. We’re colleagues working on a project together.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, just be careful, Dad. I like her, surprisingly, but there’s still a lot of stuff unresolved between you.”
