“You must be Isla and Percy! Welcome to Bear’s Rest.” Her smile was warm; her arms outstretched in greeting. “I’m Melanie Thornberg. Most people call me Mel.”
“You’re Kirk’s aunt,” Isla said before she could stop herself.
“Guilty as charged.” Mel’s eyes twinkled. “I heard you’ve already met my nephew. Small town,” she said with a knowing smile. “Word travels fast.”
“We met him twice today,” Percy piped up. “First at the chili place, and then at the restaurant. He showed us the best table!”
“Did he now?” Mel chuckled as she ushered them inside the lodge, which smelled of cinnamon and wood polish. “You must be tired from your journey. Let’s get you settled in your cabin right away.”
The check-in process was mercifully quick. Mel handed over the cabin key attached to a wooden bear keychain. Of course.
“You’re in Aspen Cabin,” she said. “One of my favorites. It’s just down that path there. You can drive right up to it. Everything inside is self-explanatory. And if it’s not, there are instruction leaflets. Call if you need a hand, but I find folks who come here prefer me to be as hands off as possible.”
“Thank you,” Isla said, grateful for the warm welcome. And for the hands-off approach.
“Oh, before I forget…” Mel reached under the counter and pulled out a basket covered with a checkered cloth. “Just some essentials for your first night. Fresh bread, local honey, a few other treats.”
“That’s so kind of you,” Isla said, touched by the gesture.
“Ah, think nothing of it. We’re proud of what we produce here, and of our hospitality,” Mel replied simply.
Back in the car, they followed the winding path to their cabin. Percy gasped when it came into view.
“Mom! It has a chimney! And a porch swing!”
Aspen Cabin was everything the website had promised, and then some. The cabin was built from solid pine logs, with a steep-pitched roof and a stone chimney that promised cozy fires. A porch swing swayed gently in the breeze, and potted flowers added splashes of color to the rustic setting.
Inside, the cabin was warm and inviting, rustic without feeling old-fashioned. The main room held a plush sofa facing a stone fireplace, a small dining table, and a compact kitchen along one wall. A hallway led to what Isla presumed were the bedrooms and bathroom.
“Mom! Come see my room!” Percy had already dashed down the hallway ahead of her.
Isla followed, finding him bouncing on a twin bed covered with a quilt patterned with bears and pine trees. A small desk sat beneath the window, which looked out over the forest.
“This is the best place ever,” Percy declared, flopping back onto the bed.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Do you want to help me unpack the car?”
Together, they brought in their luggage and the groceries. While Percy arranged his toys on the shelf in his room, Isla put away the food and explored the rest of the cabin. Her bedroom was just as charming as Percy’s, with a queen-sized bed and a little reading nook by the window. The bathroom was surprisingly modern, with a deep tub she immediately promised herself she’d use.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a text from her agent.
In talks with a national newspaper. Need to talk ASAP.
Isla stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the screen. This was the next logical step in her career. It offered security and a step up from the constant churn of online content.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket without responding. Not now. This place felt separate from that world, the world of metrics and engagement and carefully cultivated outrage. She didn’t want to puncture this bubble just yet.
“Mom, can we make a fire?” Percy appeared in the doorway, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“Absolutely,” Isla said, grateful for the distraction. “And I think we should christen this cabin properly, with s’mores.”
“Yes!” Percy pumped his fist in the air.
They worked together to build a fire in the stone hearth, Percy carefully arranging the kindling just as Isla had taught him on their few camping trips. Once the flames were crackling merrily, Isla brought out the supplies they’d picked up in town: graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.
“Can I have hot chocolate too?” Percy asked, already skewering a marshmallow on a long fork that had been thoughtfully left by the fireplace.
“I think that can be arranged,” Isla said, heading to the kitchen. She found a saucepan and heated milk, stirring in cocoa powder and a touch of sugar. The familiar motions soothed her, reminding her of winter evenings in their apartment, making hot chocolate after sledding in the park.
