Page 55 of The Wexley Inn
“A tree blew down on my street. Deputy had it barricaded before I even got close - said it won't be passable for hours yet."
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine, just wet,” she said, smiling. “I thought I might beat the worst of it, but the storm moved in faster than I expected.”
A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows, followed by a crash from upstairs. They exchanged glances before hurrying toward the sound.
The source became immediately apparent when they reached the third floor. A section of the temporary roof covering had torn away, allowing wind-driven rain to pour onto the partially renovated guest rooms. Water already pooled on the hardwood floor, threatening to seep between the boards and damage the ceiling below.
“This is like deja vu, isn’t it?” Isabella said, laughing.
“We’ve got to contain this quickly,” Thomas said. “There are tarps in the storage room downstairs. We can create a barrier to direct the water away from the floor.”
Isabella nodded. “I’ll get towels to soak up what has already spilled.”
They separated, gathered supplies, and came back together minutes later to work in the dim light. Since the power had predictably failed shortly after the storm’s intensity increased, they secured a heavy tarp across the exposed section of the roof, creating a channel that directed the water into buckets.
The work was challenging, requiring them to balance on ladders in near darkness, only occasionally illuminated by lightning flashes. Rain continued to pour through the opening until they managed to secure the tarp, soaking them both despite their efforts to stay dry.
“Hold this corner,” Thomas said, passing Isabella one end of the tarp while he secured the opposite side to an exposed beam. Their hands brushed briefly during the exchange, which heightened the tension of the moment. The contact sent a jolt through Thomas, unrelated to the storm. Even soaked and exhausted in near darkness, he was hyperaware of her - the determined set of her jaw, how skillfully she moved, how perfectly they worked together. This partnership felt inevitable, like something that had been waiting thirty years to reconnect.
When the immediate crisis was contained, they turned their attention to soaking up water with towels and moving furniture away from the affected area.
“I think it’s the best we can do until the storm passes,” Thomas said finally, looking around. “The tarp should hold unless the wind gets a lot worse.”
Isabella nodded and pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “What about the rest of the roof? Should we check any other areas?”
“Good thinking,” Thomas agreed. “Let’s do a complete inspection while we’re already soaked.”
They checked the remaining rooms on the third floor and found two minor leaks, which they addressed with temporary measures. By the time they completed their inspection, they were thoroughly drenched, but the inn was as secure as they could make it.
“We should get out of these wet clothes,” Thomas said as they walked to the main floor. “I keep some spare work shirts in my truck. They’ll be big on you, but at least they’re dry.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Isabella said, shivering. “I hadn’t planned on an impromptu shower today.”
Thomas retrieved the shirts from his vehicle and then dashed through the downpour, returning even wetter than before. The shirts were in plastic bags, thankfully. He handed Isabella a clean button-up shirt and then gestured toward the small bathroom.
“You can change in there. I’ll use the staff bathroom near the kitchen.”
When they reconvened in the library several minutes later, the incongruity of their appearance - Isabella in a men’s shirt that nearly reached her knees and Thomas with his hair still dripping onto the shoulders of his dry shirt - created a moment of shared amusement that broke the tension.
"This is quite a look," Isabella said with a self-conscious laugh, tugging at the oversized shirt. Her damp hair curled around her makeup-free face, and without her usual professional polish, she looked younger, more vulnerable.
Thomas thought she'd never been more beautiful. “A man’s shirt suits you," he said, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
Their eyes met, and the air between them shifted - charged with something beyond camaraderie or shared crisis.
The dim light of the battery-powered lantern Thomas had taken from the emergency supplies made the library feel intimate and separate from the outside world.
“I can’t believe we’re dealing with another storm again. This is becoming a pattern,” Isabella said as she settled into one of the library’s reading chairs.
“Summer thunderstorms are usually pretty fast-moving, although we’re almost into fall at this point, so I’m not really sure what this one’s doing.” He sat down across from her. “When they stall over the island, they can last for hours, though, and based on the radar I checked before the power went out, we might be in for a longer one.”
“At least we’re dry, sort of, and the inn is as secure as we can make it,” she said.
“Yeah, it usually takes a few hours even after the rain stops,” Thomas said. “The tide can play a factor, too. If the storm coincides with a high tide, the flooding will take longer to subside. Where’s Luella?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. She had talked about maybe going to visit her niece in Charleston, so maybe she got stuck over there.”
