Page 30 of The Wexley Inn
“Well, then it’s settled,” Maggie said. “Saturday at two o’clock, semi-formal garden attire. Thomas, you know where I live.” She checked her watch. “Oh, I should be going. I have a foundation board meeting at eleven.”
After Maggie and Luella departed, Isabella and Thomas found themselves alone in the quiet dining room. Sunlight continued to stream through the windows. Isabella found herself acutely aware of his presence in the large space, the way he moved with quiet confidence, the familiar cadence of his voice, the way afternoon light caught the silver threading through his dark hair.
“You don’t have to attend the garden party if you’d rather not,” Isabella said, feeling like she should give him an out. “I know these social events can be boring. They’re not really my thing either.”
He smiled slightly. “Oh, I’ve survived my share of island functions over the years. Besides, I’m very invested in this project, just like you are.”
She nodded. “Well, thank you. I have to admit, I didn’t quite anticipate this level of opposition when I bought the inn.”
“Wexley Island resists change by default,” he said as he walked over to examine the newly exposed crown molding along the dining room ceiling. “It’s not personal, although Vivian certainly makes it feel that way. She opposed my parents when they bought their house back in the ’70s because they weren’t ‘established island families’.”
“And yet your family has been here for what, over fifty years now?” she asked, following his gaze as he looked at the plasterwork overhead.
“My father moved us here when I was four. He took a job as a caretaker at the Harrington Estate, which included the inn at that time. We lived in the groundskeeper’s cottage until I was in high school.”
This glimpse into Thomas’s childhood fascinated Isabella. Despite their history and current professional relationship, she realized just how little she knew about his life before college or after their breakup. Their conversations had always remained focused on renovations and very few personal details.
“Is that how you developed an interest in historical restoration, growing up around these old buildings?”
He nodded. “My dad taught me to respect the craftsmanship in these structures. He could run his hand along a piece of molding and tell you not just when it was carved, but which craftsman did the work, what tools he used, and probably even what he had for breakfast that morning. Said every piece of wood holds the story of the hands that shaped it. He believed these buildings held the island’s stories, and preserving them was preserving history itself.”
“Well, he sounds like he was a remarkable man.”
“Oh, he was.” He turned to face her directly. “He would have approved of what you’re doing here, Isabella. Not just restoring the building, but honoring its purpose as a gathering place and a part of community life.”
The unexpected personal comment and the warmth in his voice when he said her name caught Isabella completely off guard. For a moment, the professional distance they’d carefully maintained broke down, and she glimpsed the young man who had once shared his dreams with her under Carolina stars.
“That means a lot to me,” she said, trying to keep it professional.
They stood silently for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts and thirty years of careful distance. Thomas’s eyes searched her face with intensity that made her pulse race, and for a dangerous second, she thought he might say something that would change everything. Instead, as if by mutual understanding, they both stepped back from the edge.
“You know, I’d better check on the electrical work upstairs,” Thomas said, pointing toward the hallway. “The inspector’s coming tomorrow, and I want to make sure everything is up to code.”
“Of course,” she said, nodding. “I need to review the kitchen plans with Daphne before we meet with the health department next week.”
As Thomas left, Isabella found herself thinking about their brief personal exchange. Despite their best efforts to maintain strictly professional boundaries, moments like these continued to occur - small windows into the man Thomas had become over the years. So familiar, yet so different.
These glimpses both intrigued and unsettled her, despite her determination to keep emotional distance. The Thomas she was discovering - weathered by loss, deepened by responsibility, yet still possessing that fundamental integrity she'd fallen for - was somehow even more appealing than the young man she'd once loved.
She shook her head and refocused on the renovation plans spread across the makeshift table. The inn was her priority and her future. Whatever history was between her and Thomas belonged firmly in the past, and she wasn’t going to complicate the present that she was working so hard to build. Yet even as she made this resolution, Isabella couldn't shake the feeling that the past and future were becoming increasingly complex to keep separate. Some foundations, once disturbed, refuse to return to their original positions.
CHAPTER 8
The day of Maggie’s garden party arrived, and there was perfect weather. It was sunny but not too hot or muggy, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming camellias and jasmine.
Isabella chose her outfit carefully. She wore a pale blue dress that was elegant without being flashy, paired with simple pearl earrings and low heels suitable for garden paths.
Daphne arrived early at Isabella’s cottage to review their presentation plan. She brought carefully arranged design boards to display the renovation ideas, focusing on how the modern updates would enhance rather than overshadow the inn’s historic features.
“Now remember, we’re not trying to defend our design choices,” Daphne said as they drove to Maggie’s estate. “We’re inviting these women to feel like they’re a part of the inn’s revival. Everybody wants to be associated with a successful restoration of an island landmark like this.”
Isabella had nodded. In the weeks they’d worked together, she’d come to value not just the designer’s aesthetic sense, but her understanding of the social dynamics involved in high-profile projects.
Maggie's home was the crown jewel of The Palms neighborhood - an elegant Lowcountry mansion with wraparound verandas that seemed to float above perfectly manicured gardens so lush they looked like something from Southern Living magazine. Brick pathways wound through azaleas and towering camellias, while a magnificent oak-lined alley led to the front entrance. When they pulled into the circular driveway, Isabella noticed several luxury vehicles already parked, indicating that many of the guests had already arrived.
“Are you ready for this?” Daphne asked with an encouraging smile.
“As I’ll ever be,” Isabella replied. She gathered her portfolio of plans and historical documents.
