Isla switched her attention back to her son and hurried toward the shack. She pulled open the wooden door and went inside with Percy. After the bright afternoon sunlight, theinterior seemed dark, and she had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted.
“Hi,” Isla called out, glancing around the small store. It looked as though it had once been a room where someone might have sat by the fire on a winter’s evening.
“Hello there.” An older woman with wavy gray hair smiled from behind a rustic wooden counter. Her face was weathered but kind, deep laugh lines framing her eyes. “Welcome to the Spice & Honey Shack. Feel free to look around.”
“Hi,” Isla replied, taking in the colorful displays of goods. “You have a lovely store... Could my son use the bathroom while I browse, please?”
“Sure. When you need to go, you need to go,” the woman said with an understanding nod. “Just through there.” She pointed toward a door to the right.
“Thank you so much.” Isla guided Percy to the door and pushed it open.
“I can do it,” Percy said, straightening his shoulders with the independence of a child determined to prove his maturity.
“I know,” Isla said, releasing his hand. As the door closed behind him, she took a deep breath. It was hard to let go. But he was growing up fast.
Isla turned away from the bathroom door and scanned the interior now that her eyes had fully adjusted to the dim light. The shop was warm and fragrant, filled with the complex scent of dried chilies, herbs, and something sweet—honey, probably. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed with jars of spices, bottles of sauce, and packages of dried goods. In the center of the room stood a display table with samples and tasting cups.
“First time in Bear Creek?” the woman asked, arranging a stack of small boxes behind the counter. “I’m Win, by the way.”
“Isla. And yes, first time,” Isla replied, wandering closer to examine a row of colorful jars. “We’re staying in a cabin at Bear’s Rest for a couple of weeks.”
The bathroom door opened, and Percy emerged, looking relieved.
“Better?” Isla asked, and he nodded.
“Can I look around?” he asked, already eyeing the colorful displays.
“Sure, just don’t touch anything without asking first,” Isla reminded him, watching as he gravitated toward a display of honey sticks in rainbow colors.
The door to the shop opened again, bringing with it a gust of cool mountain air and the man from outside. Up close, Isla could see he was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck. There was something solid and grounded about him that made the small shop feel even smaller. More intimate.
“Mom, look at these!” Percy called, pointing to the honey sticks. “They’re flavored!”
Isla moved toward Percy, focusing on his excitement over the honey sticks even when she was drawn to the broad-shouldered man. “Which flavor looks best to you?”
“Raspberry!” Percy pointed to a bright red stick. “Or maybe blueberry?”
“Hi there, Kirk,” the shop owner called out, her voice warm with familiarity.
“Hi, Win,” the man—Kirk—replied. “I’ve brought you some more chili plants since I was passing by.”
Win chuckled. “I’m glad you did. A tourist bus came through a couple of days ago and all but cleared me out. I meant to call you, but I got sidetracked by some darn weevils in my greenhouse.”
“Did you get rid of them?” Kirk asked, setting a small crate of potted plants on the counter.
Isla turned to look at him and found herself caught red-handed as their eyes met. Something in his hazel gaze—shifting between deep brown and muted green—made her pulse quicken. She glanced back at Percy, pretending to be absorbed in his honey stick selection.
“Hey, here’s the chili chocolate!” Percy suddenly said, pointing to a display of elegantly wrapped bars.
“Oh, that’s good stuff,” Win said, leaning over the counter. “Kirk grows the chilies and makes the chocolate himself.”
“He does?” Isla couldn’t help but look up again.
“Artisanal small-batch chocolate,” Kirk said quietly, his voice deeper than she’d expected, with a hint of roughness around the edges.
She picked up one of the chocolate bars, admiring the simple but elegant packaging, and stepped toward Win and Kirk. The wrapper featured a stylized chili plant in gold against deep burgundy paper.
“Yes, try it,” Win encouraged, reaching for a glass jar that contained broken pieces of chocolate for sampling. “First taste’s always free.”
