Page 51 of The Wexley Inn
Luella was quiet for a long moment, watching the deer with seemingly absorbed interest. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the wisdom of someone who chose her words deliberately.
“Honey, some stories aren’t mine to tell,” she said. “But I will say this. Thomas Langley is a man who’s always done what he thought was right, even when it cost him everything. Sometimes what seems like abandonment from one perspective is actually a sacrifice from another. There are people on this island who know pieces of what happened back then. Not the whole story. Thomas kept that close, but people know enough to have opinions. You start askin' around, you might hear things that'll confuse you more than clarify. Better to get it straight from the source."
She considered the response, sensing there was more meaning beyond the surface than Luella was willing to explicitly state.
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“No,” Luella said. “It doesn’t. But some answers you need to get from the source when the time is right.” She turned her penetrating gaze directly to Isabella. “The question is, are you asking because you need to know for your own peace of mind, or because it matters for what might be developing between the two of you now?”
The directness of the question caught Isabella off guard. She’d been so careful to maintain professional boundaries with Thomas, yet Luella had seen right through it.
“I’m not sure,” Isabella admitted finally. “Maybe both.”
Luella nodded, seemingly pleased with the honest uncertainty. “Then maybe it’s time to have that talk with Thomas. Ask him straight out why he left. Because whatever's growin' between you two now, it's growin' on shaky ground if you don't know the truth. And honey, secrets have a way of comin' out at the worst possible time, usually when they can do the most damage."
Before Isabella could respond, the sound of a truck approaching drew their attention. Thomas pulled into the driveway with his vehicle loaded with reclaimed flooring.
“Speak of the devil,” Luella murmured, a hint of amusement. “Timing was always that man’s specialty, sometimes good, sometimes not so good.”
Thomas parked near the side entrance and approached the porch, his expression brightening when he saw them. Despite the long drive to and from Savannah, he looked energized rather than tired.
“Ladies,” he greeted them with a warm smile. “Enjoying the evening?”
“Oh, just watching deer and solving the world’s problems,” Luella said dryly. “Found your flooring, I see.”
“Better than I hoped,” Thomas confirmed. “Heart pine from an 1860s warehouse in Savannah, same vintage as the inn’s original floors, and the patina is perfect. We won’t even need to artificially age it to match the existing sections.”
His genuine excitement over the discovery was charming. Isabella found herself watching how his face changed when he talked about materials and craftsmanship, the boyish enthusiasm that made him seem younger, the passion that initially drew her to him decades ago. It was risky how easily he could still make her forget why she had built those walls around her heart.
“That’s wonderful news,” Isabella said. “You want to show me?”
“Absolutely,” Thomas nodded.
As they walked toward his truck, Luella called after them. “Don’t forget what I said, Isabella. Some conversations need to happen face-to-face and not through the island grapevine.”
Thomas glanced back with a questioning expression, but Isabella merely shook her head, indicating they would talk about it later.
At his truck, he lowered the tailgate and showed the flooring planks, their rich amber color glowing.
“It’s beautiful,” Isabella said, running her hand along one of the exposed edges. “This color variation is extraordinary.”
“That’s what makes reclaimed heart pine so special,” he said. “Every board has its own story to tell through its unique grain pattern and color variations. This wood right here has witnessed over 150 years of history.”
As he continued explaining the technical aspects of installing and finishing the flooring, Isabella watched his face. His genuine reverence for craftsmanship was compelling.
They were interrupted by the arrival of another vehicle, a sleek silver Mercedes that Isabella recognized immediately as belonging to Grayson Williams.
Thomas’s expression shifted. “Unexpected visitor,” he said, as Grayson emerged from his car impeccably dressed. “Want me to stay?”
“Please,” Isabella nodded, grateful that he was there to support her.
Grayson approached with his practiced smile. “Isabella, Thomas, working late, I see.”
“Just reviewing some materials for the dining room,” Isabella said. “What brings you by, Grayson? I don’t believe we had a meeting scheduled.”
“No appointment necessary among friends, surely,” he replied. “I was just driving past and saw your car. Thought I’d stop to discuss the paint analysis requirement. I understand Dr. Simmons has begun her work.”
“She has,” Isabella said, “and as I mentioned to Vivian at lunch today, we should have the preliminary results next week.”
