Chapter 5 #2
Slightly intimidated, Isabella took the wooden spoon and started stirring the creamy mixture, trying to match Luella’s rhythm and pressure.
“Quit being so hesitant,” Luella said. “Grits sense fear just like horses. You gotta be confident.”
Isabella laughed, unsure if Luella was making a joke or being serious. “You know, I never thought cooking had so much in common with corporate leadership, but you might be onto something there.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Luella hummed, watching her closely.
“Leadership, cooking, renovation - all of it’s about knowing when to be firm and when to be gentle.
” She gestured toward the window where Thomas could be seen directing his crew as they secured exterior materials against the approaching storm.
“Some folks understand the balance better than others.”
Isabella followed Luella’s gaze and watched as Thomas pointed out something on a blueprint to one of his workers.
Over the past few weeks, since the architectural review board had finally approved the preliminary plans for the renovation, he and his crew had made impressive progress on reinforcing the inn’s structure.
Each day, Isabella observed his careful approach, preserving original elements when possible and replacing only what couldn’t be salvaged, always with an eye toward maintaining historical accuracy.
“He’s very good at what he does,” Isabella said, turning back to her cooking task.
“Oh, he always has been,” Luella said. “Even as a little boy, he had a gift for seeing how things fit together and what made them strong.”
Isabella hesitated for a moment but then asked the question that had been on her mind since her conversation with Luella weeks ago. “You said before that Thomas always did what he thought was right, even if it cost him. What did you mean by that?”
Luella was quiet for a moment, staring into the bowl. “Not my story to tell,” she finally said, “but I will say this. Thomas Langley carries more weight than most people will ever realize, and he has since he was barely more than a boy himself.”
Before Isabella could probe any further, the kitchen door swung open and Thomas entered, a concerned expression on his face.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said, nodding to greet both of them. “Storm’s movin’ in faster than we expected. We’re going to secure the site, but you might want to move your car to higher ground, Isabella. That driveway tends to flood in heavy rain.”
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the marsh like a warning, and the Spanish moss outside the windows began dancing in the rising wind.
“There’s a parking area behind my cottage that never floods,” Luella said. “You can leave it there till the storm passes.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that shortly,” Isabella said, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
“I’ve got the crew moving materials inside and covering what can’t be moved,” Thomas said. “The roof patch we installed yesterday should hold, but I’d like to stick around a little while to make sure there are no leaks in any of the areas we’re working on.”
Isabella nodded, appreciating his thoroughness. “Well, of course. I was planning to stay to review the dining room plans anyway.”
Luella gave them both a knowing look before turning to remove her pot from the stove.
“Well, there ain’t no sense in letting this food go to waste.
You two might as well eat it while you wait out the storm.
” She started transferring the shrimp and grits into serving dishes.
“Thomas, make yourself useful and set the table in the small parlor. The dining room’s still too dusty for civilized eating. ”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, taking plates from the cabinet with the ease of someone who knew Luella’s kitchen as well as she did.
Isabella watched his movements, noticing how comfortable he seemed in this domestic setting.
For a moment, she could imagine what their life might have looked like—sharing meals, working together, building something lasting.
Isabella moved to help, gathering silverware and napkins and trying to ignore the weird domesticity of the moment. When she couldn’t handle not staring at Thomas anymore, she ran outside to move her car.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them sat in the small parlor as rain began pattering against the windows. The candlelight flickered across Thomas's face, and Isabella found herself stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.
Luella had set up a surprisingly elegant display on an antique side table she’d pulled into use, complete with candles ‘in case the power went out’,” she said. She mentioned it would probably go out on this island if a squirrel so much as sneezed at a power line.
The meal was delicious, the shrimp and grits creamy and perfectly seasoned with subtle heat. Isabella savored the authentic flavors, already envisioning this dish being featured on the inn’s future menu.
“This is absolutely wonderful, Luella,” she said. “I can see why your cooking has been legendary here.”
“Still is,” Thomas said with a smile. “Luella’s catering is the most requested on the island, even with all those fancy Charleston chefs coming in.”
Luella waved away the compliments, although Isabella detected a pleased look in her eyes. “It’s just good, honest cooking. Nothing fancy about knowing how to treat your ingredients right.”
The rain intensified, drumming against the windows and roof. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that rattled the old windows.
“Wow, that was close,” Isabella said, trying to mask her slight unease. She’d never been entirely comfortable during thunderstorms, a childhood fear she’d mostly outgrown but that still came up occasionally.
"Just a typical summer squall," Luella said calmly. "Comes on fast, raises holy hell, then moves on through, unlike some storms that settle in and won't budge." She gave Thomas a meaningful look.
The conversation turned to the inn’s history, with Luella sharing stories about notable guests and island events that had taken place over the decades.
Isabella listened because she wanted to mentally catalog all the details that she could incorporate into the marketing materials once the inn reopened.
"You know, we had Kennedy folk stay here once," Luella said. "Not the president himself, mind you, but his sister and her husband. Gracious as you please, those two, and they knew how to treat the help proper."
“I didn’t realize the inn had such distinguished guests,” Isabella said.
“Oh, in its heyday, this place was the go-to spot for what they call ‘discreet luxury,’” Luella said, using air quotes.
“Politicians, business magnates, even some Hollywood types. They came because they could relax here without all the usual fuss. Island residents have always been respectful of people’s privacy.
Well, until we got the Lowcountry Ladies Club.
Those ladies don’t respect anybody’s privacy.
I suspect Vivian Pierce has been keeping a close eye on how much time Thomas’s truck spends parked here.
That woman’s got a nose for gossip sharper than a bloodhound’s. ”
Thomas chuckled under his breath.
Another lightning flash and thunderclap - this one so loud it made Isabella jump. Seconds later, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into gray dimness, relieved only by the candles Luella had lit.
"Right on schedule," Luella said, not sounding the least bit surprised. "Island power's about as reliable as a chocolate teapot. I’d better check my backup generator. Thomas, there are more candles in that kitchen drawer if you need them.”
As Luella walked out to go to her cottage, clutching a small flashlight, Isabella and Thomas were left alone in the candlelit parlor. The sudden intimacy of the setting was unmistakable, shadows dancing on the walls and rain creating a private cocoon of sound.
Thomas cleared his throat. “You know, Luella is always prepared.”
“I see that,” Isabella said, taking a sip of her water. “She’s been invaluable, giving me all of her knowledge of the inn and its operations.”
“Luella sees everything that happens on this island," Thomas said. "Always has. She probably knows more about island secrets than the rest of us combined. Sometimes I think she's just waiting for folks to figure out what she already knows."
A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows. Isabella couldn’t suppress another small start of surprise.
"Still don't like storms much, do you?" Thomas said gently, and Isabella realized he'd remembered this detail about her from so many years ago. The recognition in his voice was oddly comforting.
She smiled slightly. “Childhood thing. We had this huge old oak tree fall on our house during a storm when I was eight years old. No one got hurt, but the sound… I guess I’ve never quite forgotten it.”
Thomas nodded. “That’s legitimate fear then, not irrational at all.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but I’m a grown woman now. I shouldn’t still be jumping every time I hear thunder.”
"Fear doesn't always listen to logic," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of experience.
"Sometimes it just settles into your bones and stays there, reminding you what you can't afford to lose.
You know, after Sarah, my wife, was diagnosed, I developed this paralyzing fear of hospitals, not for myself, but for Emma.
Every doctor's appointment, every mention of not feeling well, and I'd be right back in that oncology waiting room, watching Sarah fade away and knowing I couldn't fix it.”
The personal confession surprised Isabella. He’d been so professional since they’d begun working together and rarely offered glimpses of his private thoughts or feelings.
“I’m sorry about your wife,” Isabella said quietly. “That must have been really hard for both you and Emma. I can’t even imagine.”