When the drinks were ready—topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows—they settled on the floor in front of the fire. Percy’s face was soon sticky with melted chocolate andmarshmallow, his expression one of pure contentment as he assembled another s’more.
“This is better than a restaurant,” he said seriously, taking a big bite.
Isla laughed, licking chocolate from her own fingers. “Don’t tell Kirk’s brother that.”
“I won’t,” Percy promised. “But it is.”
After they’d eaten their fill, Isla checked her watch. “It’s getting late, but do you want to go outside and look at the stars before bed? I bet they’re amazing out here.”
Percy’s eyes lit up. “Can we?”
They bundled up in sweaters—the mountain air had grown chilly after sunset—and stepped onto the porch. Isla gasped. The night sky blazed with stars, more than she’d ever seen, even on their camping trips outside the city. The Milky Way arced overhead, bright and impossibly clear.
“Wow,” Percy whispered, his head tilted back so far he nearly lost his balance. “There are so many.”
“More than we could ever count,” Isla agreed, her arm around his shoulders.
They stood in silence for a long moment, taking it all in. Finally, Percy yawned, the excitement of the day catching up with him.
“Time for bed, I think,” Isla said gently.
Percy didn’t even protest as she guided him back inside. After brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas, he climbed into bed, his eyelids already drooping.
“Will you read to me?” he asked sleepily.
“Just a short one tonight. You need to get some sleep,” Isla agreed, selecting a book from the small stack they’d brought. Sheread until his breathing deepened into sleep, then quietly closed the book and kissed his forehead.
Back in the main room, Isla poured herself a glass of the Thornberg wine she’d bought in town. She wrapped herself in a soft throw blanket and stepped back onto the porch, settling into the swing. The wine was excellent.
Maybe she should have let Kirk talk her into a vineyard visit. But it all felt as if things were going too far, too fast.
And she wanted…no, needed, to slow down. Just for a little while. Lately, she’d felt stretched too thin, and she needed time to regroup before taking the next step in her career.
At least, that’s what she told herself. But she was afraid it went deeper than that.
Isla took a sip of wine and pulled out her phone, opening the app where she posted most of her content. Her feed was full of the usual: restaurant reviews, cooking disasters, debates about food trends. Her own most recent post was a scathing takedown of a pretentious chef who’d served her overcooked chicken.
She scrolled through the comments, noting the usual mix of support and criticism. People loved it when she was sharp, blunt, and uncompromising. The Unfiltered Food Critic, they called her. No-nonsense Isla, who wouldn’t let restaurants get away with anything less than perfection.
It all felt so performative now. Sitting here under the stars, with the taste of good wine on her tongue and the memory of Percy’s joyful face over a simple s’more, the online persona she’d crafted felt hollow.
It hadn’t always been that way. Once, she’d loved food for the joy of it, for the way it brought people together. She’d wanted to be a chef herself before life had taken a different turn.
Isla took another sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through her. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel that old, gnawing resentment over how her life had unfolded. The desperation that had driven her when she’d first started her blog—as a single mother, struggling to make ends meet, leveraging the only skill she had—seemed distant tonight.
She’d built something from nothing, yes. But at what cost? The constant negativity that fueled her brand had seeped into the rest of her life. Every meal became something to critique rather than enjoy. Every chef became an adversary rather than an artist.
She set her phone down, no longer interested in the endless scroll of comments and likes. Instead, she looked out at the dark forest around the cabin, sipping her wine and letting herself be still. Not planning content, not crafting clever put-downs, not building her brand. Just existing in this moment, in this place.
The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end. A prickling sensation crawled across her skin, and she sat up straighter, her senses sharpening. There was something out there in the forest. Not something threatening. She didn’t feel afraid.
But it felt like something...other. Watching. Protective, almost.
Isla set her wine glass down and stood, moving to the edge of the porch. She peered into the darkness between the trees, trying to make out shapes in the shadows. The feeling intensified, not fear, but awareness. A connection to something primal, something that resonated deep within her.
Her breath caught in her throat as she thought she glimpsed movement. A shifting of shadows that might have been the wind through branches, or might have been something more.
“Mom?”
