Isla gave Kirk an apologetic look. “Someone’s running out of steam.”
“No, I’m not,” Percy protested, though his eyelids were drooping. “I’m just... resting my eyes.”
“Why don’t you lie down on the sofa and rest? Just for a bit while we clean up,” Kirk suggested, recognizing the signs of a child fighting sleep.
Percy considered this compromise with all the seriousness of a judge weighing evidence. Finally, he nodded. “Okay, but just for a little bit.”
Kirk led him to the sofa in the adjacent living room, where Percy curled up without further protest. Within minutes, his breathing had deepened into the unmistakable rhythm of sleep.
Trusting us enough to fall asleep here,his bear noted.That matters.
Kirk returned to the kitchen, where Isla was already gathering plates. “He’s out,” he said quietly.
She smiled, a tender expression crossing her face. “Too much excitement. He’ll sleep well tonight.”
They worked together clearing the table, settling into a comfortable rhythm without needing to speak. Kirk washed while Isla dried, their movements synchronized as if they’d done this a hundred times before.
And we’ll do it a hundred, no, a thousand times more,his bear said.
Kirk glanced toward the living room, where Percy slept peacefully on the sofa.
Then he looked back at Isla, standing beside him at the sink.
For the rest of our lives,Kirk said. Now he just had to work out how to make that happen.
Chapter Eleven – Isla
Isla could not recall the last time she’d enjoyed an evening like this. It had been a long time since she’d felt such joy in the kitchen. Maybe because her job had taken so much of that joy away.
She sighed and glanced at Kirk. The company hadn’t hurt either.
“Thank you for letting me cook in your kitchen,” she said, leaning against the counter. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to simply enjoy making something from scratch.”
Kirk glanced at her, his hands submerged in soapy water. “You’re welcome. You looked right at home in here.”
The words landed deeper than she had expected. Her entire career was built on judgment—on finding flaws, on clever criticisms that gained followers and views. Even meals with Percy sometimes became mental note-taking sessions for her blog.
But this evening, with Kirk, she hadn’t given her career a single thought. As she prepared the ingredients, her focus had been on making a meal that celebrated the food they had foraged. Or, as Kirk liked to call it, forest treasures.
Kirk handed her another clean plate. As their fingers brushed, she felt that same charged awareness that had been building all day.
“You’re very good at it, you know,” Kirk said. “Cooking, I mean.”
Heat flooded Isla’s cheeks. “I’m rusty. It’s been years since I cooked professionally.”
“Some things you don’t forget,” he replied. “Like riding a bike or...”
“Finding your way through a forest?” She finished for him, remembering how confidently he’d guided them earlier.
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Exactly.”
“Percy really enjoyed himself, too,” Isla said, putting away the last dish.
Kirk glanced toward the living room. “Should we check on our little forager?”
Our.The casual word sent an unexpected thrill through Isla. For a moment, it gave her a sense of belonging here. With him.
They walked quietly to where Percy lay sprawled on the couch, one arm flung over his head, his face peaceful in sleep. Kirk grabbed a soft blanket from a nearby chair and carefully draped it over him. The tenderness of the gesture made Isla’s throat tighten.
