“I should probably wake him,” she whispered. “Get him back to the cabin.”
Kirk hesitated. “He’s pretty sound asleep. You’re welcome to stay a bit longer. I could build up the fire.”
Isla knew she should say no. They’d already spent the entire day with Kirk, and getting too comfortable here felt... dangerous, somehow. But the thought of waking Percy, driving back to their cabin in the dark, and spending another evening alone while her son slept was something she chose to put off.
“Just for a little while,” she agreed.
Kirk moved to the stone fireplace and added another log, stirring the embers until flames licked upward. The fire cast a warm glow across the room, shadows dancing along the walls. Isla settled onto the sofa next to where Percy slept, tucking her legs beneath her.
Kirk joined her, keeping a respectful distance but close enough for her to be aware of his warmth. Outside, the forest had gone quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind through the pines. Inside, there was only the soft crackle of the fire and Percy’s gentle breathing.
Isla felt herself sink more fully into the moment. The day had been unexpected—foraging in the forest, cooking together, sharing a meal. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awake to everything around her.
“The mushrooms were incredible,” she said thoughtfully, breaking the comfortable silence. “Chanterelles usually have a kind of apricot note, but the nettle softened the bitterness. I didn’t expect that to work as well as it did.”
Kirk blinked. “It worked beautifully. You have a real instinct for flavor.”
“I’m not sure about that…” She gave a small shrug. “But I do spend a lot of time thinking about food.” She looked down at her hands, suddenly self-conscious.
“Do you ever miss that life?” Kirk asked. “Being in a kitchen like this all the time?”
Isla took a deep breath. This felt like a moment of choice—how much to reveal, how much to hold back. “I don’t know. For a while, I thought that would be my whole life.”
“What happened?” Kirk asked, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight.
“Life,” she said simply. “Percy happened. And I wouldn’t change that for anything, but once you’re responsible for another human being, your priorities shift.” She traced a pattern on the sofa cushion, gathering her thoughts. “Culinary school doesn’t exactly pay the bills. And restaurant hours aren’t exactly compatible with single motherhood.”
“So you found another way,” Kirk said. It wasn’t so much a question as an understanding.
“I did,” she agreed, careful not to mention exactly what that other way was. Her career as a food critic had saved them financially, but she wasn’t ready to share that part of herself with Kirk. Not yet.
Why? Because once she told him he’d likely look her up online. People always did.
And, for tonight at least, she didn’t want him to see her differently. She wanted him to see the part of her that created rather than judged.
“What about you?” she asked, shifting the focus. “How did you end up growing chilies in Bear Creek?”
Kirk leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “I always knew I wanted to work with my hands. To grow things. The restaurant has been in my family for generations, and I love it. It’s wonderful—great food, and a real focus on giving people a special experience when they come in. But I needed something that was mine.”
“I can understand that,” Isla said. She knew that feeling well, even if what she wanted now was harder to name.
“So, I started small, with just three jalapeño plants in my parents’ backyard. Looking back now, they were pathetic little things.” He laughed softly. “But I learned. Every failed crop taught me something new.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It took me seven years to save enough for this place. My brothers and I built that greenhouse by hand. Three weeks of blisters and arguments and beer after sundown.”
“You’re lucky to have such a supportive family,” she said with a twinge of jealousy. Maybe her life would have been different if she’d had a family to help support her through the hard times.
“I am. And there have been times when I’ve felt guilty about not being part of the restaurant. It’s not as if I ever planned to take a different path,” he admitted. “But sometimes the best things in life aren’t the things we plan for.”
His words resonated with her own experiences. Percy hadn’t been planned, but he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
“Do you ever miss the path not taken?” she asked, looking up at him.
Kirk considered this, his brow furrowing slightly. “Sometimes. But then I walk into my greenhouse in the early morning, when the light’s just coming through the glass, and everything’s quiet and growing, and I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
There was such certainty in his voice, such contentment. Isla felt a pang of something like envy. Her own career had been built on necessity rather than passion. She was good at what she did, very good, but the joy had leached out of it somewhere along the way.
“What about you?” Kirk asked. “Do you miss it? Not just feeding Percy, but really cooking?”
“Yes,” she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty. “Today reminded me of what I miss about it. Making something with your hands and watching someone enjoy it. There’s nothing quite like that.”
