Page 79 of The Wexley Inn
“I promise.”
They stood in the library’s darkness, the inn quiet around them.
“So what now?” she asked.
“Now we choose.” He took a step closer. “We choose to try, and we choose to trust. And we know it’s going to be hard work, but we’re used to hard work. We’re committed to doing that work together.”
“Together,” Isabella repeated. “As partners. Especially when it’s difficult.”
Thomas reached out slowly, giving her time to step back if she wanted. He cupped her face gently. “And I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll fight with everything I have. And I’ll choose to be a partner to you. And I’ll trust you to handle your own life, even when every instinct tells me to manage it for you.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I can’t promise I won’t get scared or have moments where I want to run, but I promise I’ll fight it. That I’ll choose this commitment.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” His thumb traced her cheekbone.
“You know, we’re probably going to fail a lot,” she said, laughing.
“Probably. But we’ll fail together. And we’ll get back up and try again.”
Isabella moved toward him first. She stepped into his arms, pressed her face against his chest, and allowed some tears to fall for the pain they’d caused each other and for the years they had spent apart. His arms came around her, immediately holding her close.
“I’m sorry for keeping the Paris interview a secret, and for using it to hurt you.”
“I’m sorry too - for doing all the things that I did.”
They stood together, holding each other as the library grew darker. Finally, Thomas pulled back slightly.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please.”
This kiss was different from before. Not tentative like their first kiss, and not comfortable like some of the ones that had followed, but like a kiss that held hope and second chances.
The week before the grand opening passed in a blur. Thomas and Isabella moved through the inn side by side, their partnership rebuilding every day. Every so often, Thomas would catch himself trying to decide without consulting her, but he caught himself every time.
The Christmas decorations arrived on Monday as planned: fresh magnolia garlands for the staircase banister, pine roping for the mantels, and simple white candles for every window. Daphne had chosen everything with historical accuracy in mind, creating holiday atmospheres that felt more Victorian than modern.
“It’s perfect,” Isabella said, standing in the entrance hall. “Elegant without being overdone.”
“Luella wants to hang mistletoe,” Thomas said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “I told her that was her decision to make about her kitchen.”
“And she told you it was going in the doorway between the dining room and parlor, whether you liked it or not, didn’t she?”
“How did you know that?”
“Because I know Luella,” Isabella said, laughing, “and because she told me this morning she was doing it specifically so we’d have to have an excuse to kiss at the opening.”
“Subtle, as always.”
“Are you nervous?” Thomas asked quietly.
“Terrified. What if nobody shows up? Or what if they come and hate it? Or what if Grayson shows up and makes a big scene?”
“Then we’ll handle it together.” He turned her to face him. “You’ve created something amazing here, Isabella, and people are going to want to see that.”
“We created—” she corrected. “This inn exists because of both of us. I wouldn’t have gotten here without you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have wanted to get here with anyone else.”
