Chapter 9
At two o’clock, Thomas met Isabella at the small dock behind the inn. He’d brought two kayaks - the stable, sit-on-top models - suitable for navigating the island’s tidal creeks.
“We’re going kayaking?” Isabella asked, eyeing the boats with a mixture of apprehension and interest. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”
“Oh, it’s like riding a bike,” Thomas said, handing her a life vest. “And these are designed for stability, not speed. The water is calm in these creeks, and we won’t go far from shore, I promise.”
She put on the life vest without further objection and watched carefully as Thomas demonstrated how to board the kayak and use the paddle. Even though she was initially hesitant, she managed the process with her characteristic determination, settling into the seat with growing confidence.
“The place I want to show you is about twenty minutes from here,” Thomas said as they pushed off from the dock. “We’ll follow this creek behind the inn and then branch off into a smaller waterway that leads to a hidden cove.”
As they paddled, the developed portion of the island gradually gave way to pristine salt marshes.
Tall spartina grass waved in the breeze, creating a golden-green landscape that stretched toward the horizon.
Great blue herons stood sentinel in the shallows, while osprey circled overhead, scanning the water for fish.
“This is beautiful,” Isabella said, pausing to take in the view. “I had no idea this was back here so close to the inn.”
“Yeah, most people don’t,” Thomas said, maneuvering his kayak next to hers. “The developed part of Wexley Island is just a small fraction of the total land. The rest is protected marsh and maritime forest.”
“Who owns it?” Isabella asked, gesturing toward the undeveloped expanse.
“A combination of the Island Conservation Trust and the State Wildlife Department. It can never be developed, and that’s one of the few things almost everyone on Wexley agrees on.”
They continued paddling. He occasionally pointed out wildlife or explained aspects of the marsh ecosystem. Isabella proved a quick study with the kayak, matching his pace with smooth, confident strokes.
“Turn here,” Thomas said as they reached a narrow opening in the marsh grass that would have been easy to miss without his guidance. “This creek gets a bit windy, but it opens up to something special.”
The channel narrowed as they proceeded, tall grass creating a natural corridor that blocked views of anything beyond their immediate surroundings. The water grew shallow enough in places that their paddles brushed the muddy bottom.
“Just go ahead,” Thomas said, leading the way around the final bend.
As they emerged from the narrow passage, the creek suddenly widened into a secluded cove, surrounded by giant ancient live oaks draped in Spanish moss. The trees formed a natural amphitheater around the water, their massive branches creating a cathedral-like canopy overhead.
Isabella gasped. “Oh, Thomas, this is magical.” The wonder in her voice surprised her.
When had she stopped noticing beauty like this?
More unsettling—when had sharing it with someone started to matter so much?
She pushed the dangerous thought aside, focusing on the acoustics rather than the man who'd brought her here.
“Wait,” he said with a smile. “There’s more.”
He paddled into the center of the cove and stopped, motioning for her to bring her kayak next to his. When both boats were stationary, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out a simple hello.
The sound echoed perfectly around the cove, bouncing off the natural curve of the trees and returning with clarity.
“The acoustics,” she said. “It’s a natural echo chamber.”
“Try it,” Thomas encouraged.
Isabella hesitated only a moment before she called out her own greeting. Her voice returned to her in waves, the echo clear and musical.
“This is incredible,” she said. “How did you ever find this place?”
“My dad showed me when I was little,” Thomas said. “He called it the Whispering Cove, said the old-timers believed it was a place you could speak to the island itself and sometimes hear it answer back.”
She trailed her fingers through the water, watching the ripples spread outward. “I can understand why they think that. There’s something otherworldly about it.”
“I’ve always found it’s a good place to think through difficult problems,” Thomas said.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere of the hidden cove. A pair of wood ducks paddled nearby, looking at their human visitors with mild curiosity before continuing on their way.
“I can see why you thought this might inspire ideas for the opening celebration,” she said. “There’s a sense of calmness and discovery here, like you found something precious that’s been here all along, just waiting to be appreciated again.”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what you’re doing with the inn - revealing something valuable that was hidden beneath years of neglect.”
“I’ve been thinking about a theme that honors the past and the future,” she said. “What if we structured the opening as a journey through the inn’s history, with each room representing a different era, culminating in its vision of a new beginning?”
“That could work beautifully,” he said. “We have photographs from different periods, and Luella has all the stories we need from at least the last seventy years.”
“We can incorporate music from each era - maybe local musicians performing in different spaces throughout the building,” Isabella said, “and the menu could feature traditional Lowcountry dishes with modern interpretations.”
Thomas found himself captivated as he watched her work through her ideas, her eyes bright with the same passionate creativity that had first taken his breath thirty years ago.
She gestured as she spoke, unconsciously leaning forward, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear the way he used to.
This was dangerous territory, remembering how perfectly they'd once collaborated, how their minds had moved in sync.
“What do you think?” she finally asked, pausing for a breath.
“I think it’s perfect. It captures exactly what makes the inn special - its connection to the island’s past and its place in the future.”
She smiled, clearly pleased by his approval. “Thank you for bringing me here. It really does inspire me.”
“Well, there’s something else I wanted to show you while we’re out,” he said, checking his watch. “If you’re up for a bit more paddling?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
They navigated back through the narrow channel into the main creek and then followed a different branch that led toward the ocean side of the island. After about fifteen minutes, they rounded the bend and were facing a small, secluded beach accessible only by water.
“Another hidden gem,” she said as they beached their kayaks on the pristine white sand.
“This one’s a bit more widely known among islanders,” he explained. “Local teenagers have been coming here for bonfires for generations, despite it technically being against island regulations.”
“Rebellious island youth,” Isabella laughed. “Every paradise needs a forbidden fruit.”
They walked along the shoreline where the receding tide had left behind perfect sand dollars and delicate whelk shells. The beach was sheltered by dunes covered with sea oats that swayed gently in the ocean breeze.
Isabella became acutely aware of Thomas beside her - the way he moved easily across the sand, how he automatically adjusted his longer stride to match hers, and how he pointed out interesting shells with the same enthusiasm he'd once shown for architectural details.
It felt dangerously like old times, before everything had gone wrong.
“I thought this could be a good location for a staff appreciation event before the inn opens,” he suggested. “You know, something casual to thank everybody who’s worked on the renovation before the formal celebration.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” she agreed immediately. “Something simple but meaningful, you know, a beach bonfire, good food, maybe some music.”
“Exactly - the construction crew, Daphne and her team, the staff you’re hiring - bringing everybody together to celebrate what they’ve accomplished.”
“I love it,” Isabella said, smiling, “and I appreciate you thinking of it. The success of the inn will depend on the people who create it, not just the building itself.”
They continued walking, collecting interesting shells, and discussing logistics for the event and the grand opening.
“So what made you decide to leave corporate hotels?” Thomas asked when they paused to watch a pod of dolphins playing in the distance. “You were at the top of your field, from what I understand.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.
“I had achieved everything I set out to accomplish professionally - regional director by forty, oversight of some of the most prestigious properties in the company’s portfolio, the respect of my colleagues and the board.
” She looked directly at him. “But I felt like I was slowly fading into other people’s expectations.
Every day was about maintaining someone else’s vision, meeting someone else’s benchmarks, and building someone else’s legacy.
I woke up one morning and realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had created something that was truly mine.
Although now I’m finding that the idea of something being, ‘completely mine’ is a little bit of an illusion.
The inn belongs to history, to the island, and to the people who will bring it back to life - like you and your crew, Daphne, Luella. ”
“The best projects are always collaborative,” he said. “Though it takes a strong central vision to guide them, and that’s what you bring.”