Page 45 of The Wexley Inn
“Perfect choice,” he said. “Emma mentioned you were bringing marketing materials to talk about.”
“Oh, just some ideas,” she said, following him into the main living room where Emma was arranging a cheese plate. “But nothing that can’t wait until after dinner.”
“Isabella,” Emma greeted her warmly. “I’m so glad you could join us. Dad caught redfish this morning, so you’re in for a treat.”
“Well, that sounds wonderful,” Isabella said, offering the gift bag. “Just a small hostess gift. When you mentioned your interest in marketing materials for the inn, I thought you might find this useful.”
Emma opened the bag to reveal a beautifully bound book of historical Lowcountry hotel advertisements and brochures.
“Oh my gosh, this is amazing. Where did you find it?”
“At an antique bookshop in Charleston,” Isabella said. “The owner specializes in ephemera from historical Southern hotels and resorts. I just thought it might give you some inspiration for the inn’s marketing aesthetic.”
“Oh, it’s perfect,” Emma said. “Thank you so much.”
Thomas observed the exchange with interest, noting the rapport that had developed between his daughter and Isabella. There was no awkwardness or forced politeness; instead, there was a natural connection.
“Can I offer you a glass of wine?” he asked Isabella. “Or maybe some sweet tea if you’d prefer that.”
“Wine would be lovely, thank you.”
Thomas opened the bottle, and Isabella glanced around his home with undisguised curiosity. His cottage was modest but well-designed, with an open floor plan that maximized his water view and showcased his craftsmanship through custom-built-ins and carefully restored original features.
“Your home’s beautiful,” she said. “The woodwork is extraordinary.”
“Dad did most of that himself,” Emma said proudly. “The house was practically falling down when he bought it fifteen years ago.”
“It was a good project during a difficult time,” Thomas explained, handing her a glass of wine. “You know, focusing on restoration gave me some purpose after Sarah passed.”
Her expression softened. “Creating something beautiful from something broken can be healing.”
“That’s exactly right,” he said quietly.
The moment of connection passed between them. Then Emma smoothly shifted the conversation to something lighter, talking about their fishing adventure that morning with lively detail. Isabella soon found herself laughing at the exaggerated story of Thomas nearly falling overboard while landing a particularly energetic fish.
The evening progressed with surprising ease. Thomas grilled the fish on the back deck while Emma and Isabella prepared the sides, chatting the whole time about the inn renovation. Emma’s marketing ideas and island stories were also hot topics. By the time they sat down to eat dinner, any initial awkwardness had dissipated.
“This is delicious,” Isabella said when she took her first bite of the fish. “There’s nothing quite like fish served the day it’s caught.”
“Dad’s the real chef in the family,” Emma said. “I could manage the basics, but he’s the one with the culinary skills.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Thomas said. “I took some cooking classes after Sarah died, you know, just to make sure Emma would have some decent, healthy meals, but also to give me something new to learn.”
“Oh, he’s being modest,” Emma told Isabella. “He became quite accomplished. His dinner parties are legendary.”
“Dinner parties?” Isabella said with surprise. “I didn’t picture you as an entertainer.”
“Very small gatherings,” Thomas clarified. “Just close friends, and only occasionally. Hardly legendary.”
“Still, it’s impressive,” Isabella said. “Cooking is a skill I’ve only just started to appreciate thanks to Luella’s patient instruction.”
The conversation turned to Luella’s cooking lessons and the traditional Lowcountry recipes Isabella was learning for the inn’s future menu. Thomas found himself increasingly relaxed as the meal continued, enjoying the interaction between the three of them. Emma was keeping her promise to avoid obvious matchmaking, although he noticed she was creating opportunities for him and Isabella to connect directly and stepping back from the conversation.
After dinner, they moved to the back deck, where they enjoyed coffee and a simple dessert of fresh berries and cream. The evening air had cooled, and the view of the tidal creek, illuminated by the moonlight, created a peaceful backdrop.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Isabella said, turning to Emma. “How did you become interested in marketing? Thomas said you studied business in college, but marketing specifically seems to suit your creative instincts.”
She smiled. “I actually started in architecture, you know, following in Dad’s footsteps, but I discovered I was more interested in how people perceive and interact within the spaces than designing them.”
