Chapter 10 #3
The invitation was casual, framed as a professional celebration, but Isabella sensed a shift beneath the surface.
They had maintained strict boundaries - every interaction centered on the renovation, every moment careful and controlled.
However, tonight felt different, like standing on the verge of something she couldn’t quite identify.
Part of her wanted to keep those walls up; another part was exhausted from hiding behind them.
Their conversations always focused solely on the renovation.
Even their kayaking trip had been presented as project research.
But tonight felt different. It felt like a moment of connection that didn’t need to be weighed down by their complicated past.
“Peach cobbler sounds perfect,” she said with a smile. “Lead the way.”
They returned to the cafe, which had grown quieter. The owner greeted Thomas by name, clearly a regular customer, and recommended the cobbler fresh from the oven with vanilla bean ice cream.
They settled at a corner table with their desserts and coffee, the formality of the board meeting giving way to a more relaxed conversation.
The small table meant they sat closer than they usually did during work discussions.
Isabella noticed details she'd been trying not to see - the way laugh lines deepened around his eyes when he smiled, how his hands moved expressively when he talked about the inn, the silver at his temples that somehow made him more attractive rather than less.
“I still can’t believe Luella showed up to speak,” Isabella said, savoring a bite of the exceptional cobbler. “She never even mentioned she was going to attend.”
“Well, that’s Luella,” he said, chuckling. “She appears exactly when needed, says precisely what needs saying, and then returns to her domain as if nothing unusual happened.”
“Well, she’s become important to the project, not just for her historical knowledge, but for her practical insights about how the inn actually functions day to day,” Isabella said. “She sees this renovation as her legacy, too. The inn has been her life for so long.”
“And she wants to see it restored properly before she retires,” Thomas said, taking a bite.
“Has she mentioned retirement?” Isabella asked, surprised. “She’s never even indicated to me that she’s considering it.”
“Not directly,” Thomas admitted, “but she’s mentioned several times that she wants to see the inn ‘settled right’, before she’s done. I think she’s just waiting to make sure it’s in good hands before she steps back.”
Isabella thought about it. “I hope she’ll stay involved even after the renovation’s complete. Her knowledge of traditional Lowcountry cuisine is epic, and I’ve been taking notes during our cooking lessons.”
“Cooking lessons?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, I didn’t realize Luella had taken on an apprentice.”
Isabella chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, I’m very much a beginner.
She’s teaching me classic dishes that we might put on the menu, such as shrimp and grits, she-crab soup, and Frogmore stew.
She’s remarkably patient, considering my limited experience with cooking at all, specifically Southern cooking. ”
“You’re full of surprises, Isabella Montgomery,” he said, his expression warm. “Corporate hotel executive turned innkeeper and now Lowcountry chef in training.”
“Hardly a chef,” she said, “but I want to understand every aspect of what makes this place work.
In corporate hotels, I managed operations remotely - tracking reports, metrics, and budget lines.
But here? I'm learning to make she-crab soup from scratch, gaining an understanding of why certain dishes hold significance for this community.
The food isn't just fuel - it's memory, tradition, connection.”
Their conversation flowed easily as they finished dessert, talking about the renovation, but also occasionally venturing into more personal territory, like Thomas’s recent fishing trip with the crew after completing a difficult phase of the electrical work, and Isabella’s discovery of a beautiful walking path on the eastern shore of the island.
Other people left in the cafe occasionally looked their way with some curiosity. Isabella was starting to become accustomed to the constant observation that came with island life.
“We’re providing excellent fodder for the island gossip mill,” she said, amused.
“Oh, sharing peach cobbler after a board meeting? Scandalous,” Thomas replied dryly. “Although I suppose in a community this size, any interaction beyond professional meetings may raise eyebrows.”
“You know, Maggie mentioned that our history hasn’t exactly remained a secret,” Isabella said, broaching the subject directly for the first time. “Apparently, it’s common knowledge around here that we knew each other in college.”
He nodded, his expression turning more thoughtful. “Island memories are long, and connections are traced meticulously. When you arrived and hired me for renovations, it didn’t take long for someone to make the connection.”
What Isabella didn't reveal was that she’d heard whispers of more than just college romance - vague mentions of ‘circumstances’ and ‘obligations’ that had brought Thomas back to the island. She’d tried to dismiss the speculation, but curiosity ate at her. What truly happened thirty years ago?
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “The speculation?”
Thomas thought about the question for a moment. “Not for my sake. I’ve lived here long enough to develop a little bit of immunity to the gossip, but I wouldn’t want it to affect your renovation or your standing in the community.”
“Oh, I’ve navigated corporate politics for decades,” Isabella assured him. “Island gossip is actually refreshingly straightforward by comparison. At least people here speculate openly rather than behind closed boardroom doors.”
That drew a laugh from Thomas. “I guess that’s one way to look at it, though I’m not sure refreshingly straightforward is how people would describe Wexley’s social dynamics.”
As the cafe prepared to close, they gathered their things and walked outside. The night had grown cooler, stars brilliantly visible in the sky above the island. They paused beside Isabella’s car.
“Thank you for your work on the presentation,” she said. “We wouldn’t have received approval without your expertise and knowledge of the island.”
“Well, it was a team effort,” he said. “Your vision for the inn is what convinced the board, despite Grayson’s objections.”
She nodded and then hesitantly added, “And thanks for suggesting we celebrate. It was nice to enjoy an accomplishment rather than immediately focusing on the next challenge.”
“Something I’ve learned over the years,” Thomas said, “taking time to acknowledge progress makes the remaining work feel less daunting.”
They said their good nights and drove their separate ways.
Isabella returned to her cottage with a sense of satisfaction.
The evening had shifted something in their carefully maintained professional relationship.
Not dramatically, but she perceived it. Sharing dessert and conversation outside of a renovation had humanized their interaction, giving glimpses of the people they had become.
As she got ready for bed, she found herself thinking about Thomas’s comment about island gossip.
The rumors about their past relationship didn’t really bother her.
She had come to Wexley Island to start fresh and build her own legacy.
She didn’t expect that the process would require confronting old wounds, or that the man who once broke her heart would become vital to her plans’ success.
And she definitely didn’t expect how difficult it would become to remember why she built those careful walls in the first place.
Whether the transformation would lead to anything beyond their current professional relationship remained to be seen, but for now, she was content that progress had been made in both.
The board's conditional approval was another victory, despite Grayson’s attempts at sabotage. But as Isabella turned off the light, she realized that the real challenge wasn’t the architectural review boards or the paint analysis requirements.
The real challenge was figuring out whether she could trust her growing feelings for Thomas - or if she was risking the same heartbreak that had nearly destroyed her thirty years ago.
Because every shared laugh, every moment of perfect teamwork, every time their eyes met across a room, she felt the walls crumbling a little more.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tonight, she simply acknowledged that the careful professional distance she'd maintained was becoming harder to defend with each passing day.