Percy looked skeptically at Leo, then back at Kirk as if checking whether this stranger could be trusted. Kirk nodded encouragingly, and Percy solemnly shook Leo’s hand.
“What is it?” the boy asked.
Leo swept a hand toward his tomato display. “The sweetest, juiciest tomatoes in all of Bear Creek. And they won’t make steam come out of your ears like my brother’s chilies.”
Percy giggled, his initial shyness forgotten. “Can I try one?”
“Absolutely,” Leo said, selecting a perfectly ripe Cherokee Purple from his display. He sliced it carefully and offered Percy a piece on a small napkin. “This one’s called Cherokee Purple. It’s been grown for over a hundred years.”
“Wow,” Percy breathed, studying the deep purple-red flesh with solemn interest before taking a careful bite. His eyes widened. “It’s so sweet! Does it breathe fire like Kirk’s chilies?”
Both brothers laughed, and Kirk caught Isla’s eye over Percy’s head. She was watching them with a softness he hadn’t seen before, something warm and unguarded in her expression. For one dangerous moment, he let himself imagine this becomingordinary—Percy growing taller, Isla’s smile becoming a familiar part of these markets.
“Mom! You have to try this tomato!” Percy called, breaking the moment. “It tastes like summer!”
Isla stepped closer and accepted the slice Leo offered. “It’s delicious,” she said after tasting it. “You have quite the green thumb.”
Leo preened. “Finally, someone with taste. Unlike my brother here, who thinks food isn’t worth eating unless it makes your eyes water.”
“Depth of flavor,” Kirk corrected, his eyes still on Isla. “Heat is only one part of it.”
“Spoken like a true chili snob,” Leo teased.
The easy banter carried on, Percy bouncing between the two stalls with boundless energy. Kirk prepared a mild sample for the boy, carefully explaining the flavor notes while Percy listened with serious concentration. Kirk found himself quietly storing away the moment—Percy’s delighted expression as he tried the chili, Isla’s laugh at something Leo said, the way she drifted a little closer to Kirk whenever he spoke.
“Wait... aren’t you Isla Marshall?”
The question came from a woman at Leo’s stall, her voice cutting clean through the hum of voices. She was squinting at Isla, her expression shifting from uncertainty to recognition.
Kirk glanced over, mildly curious. Isla had gone very still, her smile freezing in place.
“Oh my God, it is!” the woman exclaimed. “My husband and I follow all your reviews! You’re the restaurant destroyer!”
Something cold settled in Kirk’s stomach.
Restaurant destroyer?
Another customer looked up from the chili samples. “Isla Marshall? The food critic? I love your takedowns! That review of Chez Michel last month wasbrutal.”
The mood around the stall shifted. More people were turning to look at Isla now, recognition dawning on their faces. Some were already pulling out phones, as if to confirm what they thought they knew.
“Your blog saved us from a terrible anniversary dinner last year,” someone else called. “We went to your recommended place instead.Somuch better.”
Isla’s face had drained of color. She reached for Percy and drew him closer to her side. “Thank you,” she said, her voice tight. “That’s very kind.”
Kirk watched her carefully, trying to fit this new information into the woman he thought he knew. Food critic. Reviews. Takedowns. The pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture he didn’t know what to do with.
“Careful, Leo,” a man at the tomato stall laughed, gesturing toward the brothers. “She might review your tomatoes next. I hear she doesn’t pull punches.”
Leo chuckled easily. “I think I can handle a little constructive criticism.”
“Hey, you should review Thornberg Restaurant while you’re here!” another voice called from the crowd. “Is that why you’re in town?”
Kirk’s chest tightened. Thornberg Restaurant. His family’s legacy, their pride and joy. The thought of it being subjected to the kind of “takedowns” these people were talking about made something protective rise sharp and fast inside him.
His bear, so calm only moments ago, stirred uneasily.Something’s wrong. Why has she never told us?
I don’t know.In all their conversations, all their meals, all their intimate moments, Isla had carefully kept the details of her work vague.
