Page 43 of The Wexley Inn
“Best time of the year here,” Thomas agreed, “before the worst of the summer heat sets in, but warm enough for the beach.”
They settled into comfortable conversation as they finished dinner together, Emma sharing updates about her work projects and friends in Atlanta, while Thomas discussed recent developments at the inn.
It wasn’t until they were seated at the table, paella served and wine poured, that Emma returned to the subject of Isabella.
“So she texted back while we were eating,” she said casually, taking a sip of her wine. “She’s free tomorrow night and would be happy to join us for dinner. I said we could cook here rather than going out.”
Thomas gave his daughter a look. “You’re just determined to make this happen, aren’t you?”
Emma looked at him. “I like her, Dad. She’s smart, accomplished, and genuinely passionate about the inn. And yes, I’ve noticed how you talk about her. There’s something there, whether you want to admit it or not.”
“It’s complicated, Emma.”
“Life is complicated,” she countered. “It doesn’t mean you should avoid connections that could be meaningful.”
She put down her fork and turned more serious. “Mom has been gone for fifteen years. You’ve dedicated yourself to your work and to me, but what about your own happiness?”
He sighed, recognizing the genuine concern behind his daughter’s persistence. “I appreciate that you want me to be happy, Emma, but my history with Isabella isn’t something that can just be easily set aside. There are many things she doesn’t know, things that might change how she sees me.”
“You mean the real reason you left her?” Emma said quietly.
Thomas nodded, tracing the rim of his wine glass with his finger. “I made that decision without giving her any choice in the matter. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”
“Then tell her the truth now, Dad,” Emma suggested. “Allow her to decide how she feels about everything. Maybe she’ll be angry, but maybe she’ll understand. At least it’s the honest way to go about it.”
“And what if knowing hurts her all over again? Or makes working together impossible?”
“Dad, you taught me that sometimes you have to take risks even if you aren’t sure what the outcome will be. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
Thomas thought about his daughter’s words, struck by her wisdom. When had his little girl grown up into such an intelligent, well-spoken woman?
“When did you get so smart about relationships?” he asked with a slight smile.
Emma chuckled. “I observe and learn. Just because I’m still single doesn’t mean I don’t understand how people work.” Her expression softened. “I just want to see you happy, Dad. And I think Isabella might be part of that happiness, if you give it a chance to build without being on shifting sand.”
“One dinner,” Thomas finally conceded. “But no obvious matchmaking, Emma. Promise me.”
“Scout’s honor,” she replied, holding her hand in a mock pledge. “Though I was never actually a scout, so take that as you will.”
He shook his head and smiled. “You’re impossible.”
The next morning dawned clear and perfect for fishing. The temperature was mild, there was a light breeze, and visibility on the water was excellent. Thomas and Emma set out early in his small boat, going to her favorite spot in the tidal creek where redfish could be found this time of year pretty reliably. Fishing had always been their special activity since Emma was old enough to hold a rod, a tradition that continued into her adulthood. Some of their best conversations had happened on these little excursions, quiet, peaceful mornings surrounded by beauty, creating space for meaningful connections.
“Do you remember when I caught that huge redfish when I was ten?” Emma asked as they anchored in a little cove. “The one that was almost as big as I was?”
“Oh, how could I forget?” Thomas laughed, preparing their rods. “And then you refused to let me help you land it and insisted on bringing it in yourself, even though it nearly pulled you overboard.”
“Well, stubbornness is a family trait,” Emma said with a grin. “Mama always said I got a double dose, one from each of you.”
“Well, she was right about that,” he agreed. “She used to say watching us argue was like seeing the same person disagree with themselves.”
Emma cast her line with practiced skill, the lure landing exactly where she intended. "I miss her," Emma said quietly. "But it's different now. The missing doesn't swallow me whole anymore. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, like if I'm not actively hurting, I'm somehow forgetting her. Is that weird?"
“No, not weird at all,” Thomas said, casting his own line. “Grief changes over time. The love remains, but the sharp edges of loss start to soften.”
They fished in silence for a while, the casting and reeling creating a meditative quality. Birds called overhead, and occasionally a fish jumped nearby, creating ripples across the otherwise calm water.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about making a change,” Emma said eventually, her tone casual. “I mean professionally.”
