Her fingers flew across the keys, the familiar critic’s voice sliding easily into place—sharp, witty, ruthless. She found the perfect cutting phrase for the grainy chocolate mousse, a devastating comparison for the unbalanced beurre blanc.
Too easily.
She paused, rereading a particularly brutal line about the chef’s apparent inability to tell the difference between seasoning and embalming. It was clever. Her readers would love it. But something in her made her soften it, changingembalmingtopreserving.
Then she stared at the edit, her finger hovering over the delete key.
The brand her audience expected was the brutal one. The one that didn’t pull punches. The one restaurant owners feared and readers devoured with gleeful schadenfreude.
After a moment, she deleted the change and made it sharp again.
Outside, the crunch of tires on gravel pulled her attention to the window. A car was pulling up—Rachel’s SUV. Isla quickly saved the document and closed the laptop, setting it aside as she moved to the door.
The morning sunshine felt bright after the dimness of the cabin. Isla stepped onto the porch just as Percy burst out of the back seat, his face alight with excitement.
“Mom! Mom! You won’t believe what we did! We made a fairy garden with little houses and a pond, and everything! And I let them borrow my dinosaurs to guard it from bad fairies!”
Isla couldn’t help smiling as he launched himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “That sounds amazing, sweetie.”
Rachel approached more slowly, her daughters, Aria and Lucy, trailing behind her. “He was an absolute delight,” she said warmly. “The girls haven’t stopped talking about their new friend.”
“Thank you for having him,” Isla said, genuinely grateful. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all,” Rachel insisted. “In fact, we’re planning a hike this weekend, and maybe a trip to the local animal sanctuary next week. We’d love for you both to join us.”
“Can we, Mom? Please?” Percy looked up at her with hopeful eyes.
Isla hesitated only briefly. “We’d love to.”
After goodbyes and promises to arrange details later, Isla ushered Percy back inside. He immediately launched into a detailed account of everything they had eaten for breakfast, along with the elaborate rules of a game involving dinosaurs, fairies, and something called magical berries.
Isla listened with half an ear as she picked up her laptop again and opened it to check her analytics while Percy chattered on. Her latest review had gained another thousand views overnight. The comments were full of readers praising her acerbic wit, her unflinching honesty, and her refusal to sugarcoat.
Her phone buzzed with a text from her agent.
Bigger update. Daily Tribune interested in a syndicated weekly column. National reach. Better money. They want a sample of your sharpest work ASAP. This could be the big one.
Isla’s heart gave a hard, sudden thud. TheTribune. A weekly column. That kind of stability would mean never having to worry about money again. It would mean a real college fund for Percy, a house with a yard instead of an apartment, security for both of them.
But it would also mean doubling down on the version of herself she was no longer sure she wanted to be. TheTribunewould not want gentle, thoughtful food writing. They would want bite. Blood in the water. They would want the Isla Marshall, who could eviscerate a chef’s life’s work in three hundred perfectly crafted, merciless words.
“Mom?”
Percy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Can we go see Kirk today? Maybe eat more of his chili?”
Isla set her phone down slowly. “Actually, Kirk mentioned there’s a local food event happening today in the town square. He’s going to be there with his chilies.”
Percy’s eyes widened. “Can we go? Please? I want to show him my new dinosaur facts. And maybe he’ll let me try a not-too-spicy chili.”
“We can go,” Isla said, smiling at his enthusiasm. “We just need to get cleaned up first.”
Percy pumped his fist in the air and raced toward the bathroom, already calling back questions about what kind of chilies might be there and whether Kirk might have some chili ice cream.
As Isla gathered clean clothes for him, a small voice from the bathroom doorway made her pause.
“Mom?”
