She parked outside Aspen Cabin and got out. Percy would be back in about half an hour. While she waited, she planned to get some work done, partly because she needed to and partly because it would give her something else to focus on.
That was what she needed. A distraction. Something to give her mind space to process everything. Otherwise, it would all just keep circling until she drove herself mad.
She hurried up the cabin steps and went inside. But as the cabin door clicked shut behind her, sealing her inside, the silence felt too loud. No cartoons blaring from the television. No excited chatter about dinosaurs or paddling in streams. Just the soft ticking of the wall clock and the sound of her own breathing.
The emptiness of the cabin pressed in around her, giving her too much space to think.
Coffee. She moved to the kitchen on autopilot, measuring grounds into the filter and filling the reservoir with water. Thefamiliar routine should have been comforting, but her hands trembled slightly as she pressed the brew button.
Last night. God, last night.
Steam rose from the coffee maker, carrying its rich aroma through the small space as Isla leaned against the counter. Her mind drifted back to the moonlit clearing, to Kirk standing before her one moment and then—impossibly, magically—changing. The air had crackled with energy, tiny sparks dancing around him, and then… a bear. A massive, beautiful bear with intelligent eyes that were unmistakably Kirk’s.
She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of her fingers sinking into thick fur, the rumbling purr that had vibrated through his massive form when she stroked his ears. The wonder of it all. The strange, undeniable rightness she had felt instead of fear.
And afterward—his arms around her, solid and warm, as they made love beneath the canopy of stars. The weight of his body against hers. The whispered words between them.
Isla poured coffee into her favorite mug, the one Percy had given her for Mother’s Day last year, withWorld’s Most Awesome Mompainted in wobbly letters. She carried it to the sofa and sat, staring out at the surrounding forest.
For a strange moment, she understood Kirk in a new way. What it might mean to carry two selves inside one life.
Her reflection wavered in the dark surface of her coffee, and for a moment, it really did feel as though two different women were staring back at her.
The Isla, who felt as though she belonged here in Bear Creek, cooking in Kirk’s kitchen, foraging in his forest, sleeping in his bed.
And the Isla Marshall, her readers followed online, the one who had built a career—a reputation—on being sharp, incisive, and often brutal in her judgments.
She took a sip of coffee, letting the bitter warmth spread through her chest. Kirk didn’t know about that part of her life. She had been careful not to mention it, skirting around the specifics of her “writing” whenever it came up.
What would he think when he found out? A man who poured his heart into cultivating the perfect chili, who spoke about heat with reverence and passion—how would he feel about someone who made her living passing judgment on other people’s work?
The coffee seemed to turn sour in her mouth.
With a sigh, Isla set down her mug, crossed to her bag, and pulled out her laptop. The deadline for her review of The Pinecone was tomorrow. She had promised herself that she would finish it before Percy returned.
The screen glowed to life, her document already open from yesterday’s aborted attempt. The cursor blinked accusingly at her, waiting for the words that usually came so easily.
She typed a sentence, then deleted it. Tried again. Deleted that too.
The words refused to come.
Isla stared at the blinking cursor, her mind drifting back to the meal at The Pinecone. The slightly tough pastry. The overcooked trout. The technical flaws she had automatically cataloged.
But also Percy’s delight in the tomato soup thattasted like sunshine.
Her screensaver flickered on, replacing the blank document with a photograph of Percy at the beach last summer. His grinwas wide and gap-toothed, his hair sticking up in sandy spikes, pure joy radiating from his small face.
Something tightened in her chest.
This was why she did it. Why she had cultivated that sharp, critical voice. For him. For the stability it gave them. For the security of knowing they would never struggle the way she had growing up.
If she stopped writing, that stability went with it.
Isla drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She clicked away the screensaver and placed her fingers on the keyboard once more.
This time, the words came.
The Pinecone presents itself as Bear Creek’s answer to rustic fine dining, but falls short in both execution and ambition. The mushroom tartlet arrived with pastry that could have doubled as a frisbee, while the trout was so overcooked it might as well have been jerky meant for a hiker’s backpack...
