Page 25 of The Wexley Inn
Isabella
He swallowed hard, remembering exactly when that letter had arrived. He had already talked to Sarah’s parents at that point, and her father had made the demand that he marry her if he wanted to save his dad. Reading her words about the future together - their future together - and knowing what decision awaited him had been torture.
He set the letter aside and pulled out another one. This one was dated just days before he had written the note he would leave her to end their relationship.
Thomas,
I can’t believe I’ll be home in only two weeks. This internship has been such an incredible opportunity, but I’m so ready to be back with you. My supervisor hinted that they might offer me a position after graduation, which would be perfect timing for your graduate program in Charleston.
We could find ourselves a little apartment halfway between the two cities and make it work until we figure out our next steps.
I sketched out some ideas for that weekend cabin that we always talk about building someday. Nothing fancy, you know - just a simple retreat where we can escape when city life gets a little overwhelming.
I’ve enclosed a rough design. Let me know your thoughts.
Counting the days,
Isabella
Enclosed in the letter was a detailed sketch of a cabin that had Isabella’s precise architectural style evident in every part. He unfolded it carefully, looking at the features they’d once discussed during late-night conversations about their future. A wide front porch overlooking the water, large windows to bring nature inside, and a big stone fireplace that would serve as the heart of the home.
He traced his fingers over the delicate lines of her drawing, recalling the late night when she had first sketched it at their favorite coffee shop, her face illuminated with dreams of their future together. ‘Someday we’ll build this,’ she had whispered, ‘and fill it with books, babies, and Sunday morning coffee.’ The memory was vivid enough to take his breath away.
He'd kept every letter, every sketch, every photograph, unable to let go of these pieces of their shared past, but too guilty to keep them where Sarah might see them. Even after Sarah's death, he'd left them hidden, as if honoring his wife's memory meant keeping his first love buried. Now, with Isabella back in his life, the weight of all those unspoken truths felt heavier than ever.
After a while, he carefully placed the letters back in the box, but he hesitated over the cabin sketch. On impulse, he slipped it into the folder with the blueprints of the inn. Maybe it was time to stop hiding from these memories and to acknowledge their place in his life. The young man who had written those thoughtful responses to her letters believed he was protecting everyone. But reading her hopeful words now, seeing the future she had imagined for them, he wondered if his silence had been the cruelest cut of all.
As he moved forward, the sound of his phone interrupted his thoughts - a text from his foreman. They’d uncovered an unexpected structural issue with one of the inn’s main support beams that required Thomas’s immediate attention.
Grateful to have the distraction, he closed the attic and headed for his truck.
The past would have to wait. The present demanded his expertise.
When Thomas got to the inn, he found his crew carefully removing plaster around the support beam. Isabella was standing nearby, watching the process with concern evident on her face. She was calm as usual, but he knew she was worried.
“Morning,” Thomas greeted her, trying to sound like everything was normal despite the emotional turbulence from the cemetery visit and then the attic discovery. “So, I understand we have found a challenge?”
She turned to him. “Yes. They were fixing the ceiling yesterday because of the leak when they noticed this.” She pointed to the exposed beam, where the dark patches showed serious water damage.
He moved closer and carefully examined the wood. Isabella stepped beside him for a better look, and he caught a faint scent of her perfume mixed with sawdust and morning air. Standing so near, he noticed the fine lines of concentration around her eyes as she studied the damage.
The beam was originally part of the building, a hand-hewn heart pine that had supported the structure for over a century. The water damage occurred gradually over the decades, weakening the wood from the inside out.
“We’re going to need to replace this section,” he said after a thorough inspection. “The good news is I think we can sister in a new support beam without removing the original one completely, preserving what we can of the historic material but ensuring structural integrity.”
She nodded. “So, what does that mean for our timeline and budget?”
“Oh, just minor adjustments to both,” he said. “We’ll need some specialty lumber to match the original dimensions, and it’s going to be more labor-intensive than the standard replacement. I think we’ll probably add three days to the schedule and maybe about four thousand to the budget.”
He watched her process that information and admired the practical way she approached the setback. Many clients would have been frustrated or sought cheaper alternatives.
“Do it right,” she said without hesitation. “This building has survived storms, wars, and decades of neglect. I didn’t come this far to cut corners now. She deserves to stand for another century and a half.”
He nodded. He appreciated her commitment to the quality. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her in college - her unwillingness to compromise on her standards and her understanding that some things were worth doing properly, even at a greater cost.
“I’ll have the lumber sourced by tomorrow,” he said. “We can begin the structural work as soon as it arrives.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a stylish Asian woman in her mid-thirties carrying a portfolio case and looking curiously around the construction site.
