Page 41 of The Wexley Inn
They returned to the cafe, which had grown quieter. The owner greeted Thomas by name, clearly a regular customer, and recommended the cobbler fresh from the oven with vanilla bean ice cream.
They settled at a corner table with their desserts and coffee, the formality of the board meeting giving way to a more relaxed conversation. The small table meant they sat closer than they usually did during work discussions. Isabella noticed details she'd been trying not to see - the way laugh lines deepened around his eyes when he smiled, how his hands moved expressively when he talked about the inn, the silver at his temples that somehow made him more attractive rather than less.
“I still can’t believe Luella showed up to speak,” Isabella said, savoring a bite of the exceptional cobbler. “She never even mentioned she was going to attend.”
“Well, that’s Luella,” he said, chuckling. “She appears exactly when needed, says precisely what needs saying, and then returns to her domain as if nothing unusual happened.”
“Well, she’s become important to the project, not just for her historical knowledge, but for her practical insights about how the inn actually functions day to day,” Isabella said. “She sees this renovation as her legacy, too. The inn has been her life for so long.”
“And she wants to see it restored properly before she retires,” Thomas said, taking a bite.
“Has she mentioned retirement?” Isabella asked, surprised. “She’s never even indicated to me that she’s considering it.”
“Not directly,” Thomas admitted, “but she’s mentioned several times that she wants to see the inn ‘settled right’, before she’s done. I think she’s just waiting to make sure it’s in good hands before she steps back.”
Isabella thought about it. “I hope she’ll stay involved even after the renovation’s complete. Her knowledge of traditional Lowcountry cuisine is epic, and I’ve been taking notes during our cooking lessons.”
“Cooking lessons?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, I didn’t realize Luella had taken on an apprentice.”
Isabella chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, I’m very much a beginner. She’s teaching me classic dishes that we might put on the menu, such as shrimp and grits, she-crab soup, and Frogmore stew. She’s remarkably patient, considering my limited experience with cooking at all, specifically Southern cooking.”
“You’re full of surprises, Isabella Montgomery,” he said, his expression warm. “Corporate hotel executive turned innkeeper and now Lowcountry chef in training.”
“Hardly a chef,” she said, “but I want to understand every aspect of what makes this place work. In corporate hotels, I managed operations remotely - tracking reports, metrics, and budget lines. But here? I'm learning to make she-crab soup from scratch, gaining an understanding of why certain dishes hold significance for this community. The food isn't just fuel - it's memory, tradition, connection.”
Their conversation flowed easily as they finished dessert, talking about the renovation, but also occasionally venturing into more personal territory, like Thomas’s recent fishing trip with the crew after completing a difficult phase of the electrical work, and Isabella’s discovery of a beautiful walking path on the eastern shore of the island.
Other people left in the cafe occasionally looked their way with some curiosity. Isabella was starting to become accustomed to the constant observation that came with island life.
“We’re providing excellent fodder for the island gossip mill,” she said, amused.
“Oh, sharing peach cobbler after a board meeting? Scandalous,” Thomas replied dryly. “Although I suppose in a community this size, any interaction beyond professional meetings may raise eyebrows.”
“You know, Maggie mentioned that our history hasn’t exactly remained a secret,” Isabella said, broaching the subject directly for the first time. “Apparently, it’s common knowledge around here that we knew each other in college.”
He nodded, his expression turning more thoughtful. “Island memories are long, and connections are traced meticulously. When you arrived and hired me for renovations, it didn’t take long for someone to make the connection.”
What Isabella didn't reveal was that she’d heard whispers of more than just college romance - vague mentions of ‘circumstances’ and ‘obligations’ that had brought Thomas back to the island. She’d tried to dismiss the speculation, but curiosity ate at her. What truly happened thirty years ago?
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “The speculation?”
Thomas thought about the question for a moment. “Not for my sake. I’ve lived here long enough to develop a little bit of immunity to the gossip, but I wouldn’t want it to affect your renovation or your standing in the community.”
“Oh, I’ve navigated corporate politics for decades,” Isabella assured him. “Island gossip is actually refreshingly straightforward by comparison. At least people here speculate openly rather than behind closed boardroom doors.”
That drew a laugh from Thomas. “I guess that’s one way to look at it, though I’m not sure refreshingly straightforward is how people would describe Wexley’s social dynamics.”
As the cafe prepared to close, they gathered their things and walked outside. The night had grown cooler, stars brilliantly visible in the sky above the island. They paused beside Isabella’s car.
“Thank you for your work on the presentation,” she said. “We wouldn’t have received approval without your expertise and knowledge of the island.”
“Well, it was a team effort,” he said. “Your vision for the inn is what convinced the board, despite Grayson’s objections.”
She nodded and then hesitantly added, “And thanks for suggesting we celebrate. It was nice to enjoy an accomplishment rather than immediately focusing on the next challenge.”
“Something I’ve learned over the years,” Thomas said, “taking time to acknowledge progress makes the remaining work feel less daunting.”
They said their good nights and drove their separate ways. Isabella returned to her cottage with a sense of satisfaction. The evening had shifted something in their carefully maintained professional relationship. Not dramatically, but she perceived it. Sharing dessert and conversation outside of a renovation had humanized their interaction, giving glimpses of the people they had become.
