If Rachel knew, she gave no sign. Instead, she crouched down to Percy’s level. “But you know what it really needs? Some fresh herbs. Our chef needs thyme and rosemary for today’s special. You could help me pick some, and a little extra for the fairies.”
Percy looked at Isla, hope written all over his face.
“Go ahead,” Isla said, relieved by the thought of a few minutes alone to gather herself. “Stay where Rachel can see you.”
“Is this like foraging?” Percy asked eagerly, already sliding from his chair.
Rachel laughed. “Exactly like foraging. Just with fewer bears.”
The casual mention of bears—of Kirk—tightened something in Isla’s chest, but she forced a smile as Percy followed Rachel happily toward the glass doors leading to the courtyard garden.
Alone at the table, Isla pulled out her laptop and opened a fresh document. This was familiar territory. This was what she did.
The critic’s voice tried to slide into place, clinical and observant. The lighting: warm but not dim, flattering to the food without casting harsh shadows. The service: attentive without hovering, staff moving with practiced efficiency. The menu: seasonal, locally focused, confident enough not to try to be everything.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she mentally shaped an opening line. Something about rustic elegance without pretension. A nod to the restaurant’s history while acknowledging its contemporary polish.
But for the first time in years, the words did not come easily. They felt forced. Hollow. As if she were stepping into a part she no longer quite knew how to play.
Through the glass doors, she could see Percy carefully selecting herbs under Rachel’s guidance, his face serious with concentration. He looked happy. He looked as though he belonged.
“That’s Kirk’s Isla.”
The words drifted to her from across the room. Rachel was speaking quietly to an older woman as they watched Percy examining a rosemary bush. The woman—elegant, silver-streaked dark hair framing a face that managed to look both kind and shrewd—turned and looked directly at Isla through the glass.
Not anymore,Isla thought, a surprising ache opening in her chest.
The woman said something to Rachel, then moved with calm purpose toward Isla’s table. As she drew nearer, Isla could see Kirk in her face—the same steady gaze, the same quiet strength.
“Hello,” the woman said, her voice warm and melodious. “I’m Eleanor Thornberg. Kirk’s mom. May I join you?”
Isla gestured to the empty chair, unsure what else to do. Eleanor sat opposite her and folded her hands neatly on the table.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Isla,” Eleanor said.
“You too.” Isla closed her laptop, suddenly feeling exposed with it open in front of Kirk’s mother.
Eleanor studied her for a moment, her expression kind but searching. “How are you doing?”
The gentleness of the question caught Isla off guard. She did not know what she had expected, but it had not been this.
Eleanor’s concern slipped straight through her armor.
“I’m fine,” Isla said automatically, the lie sounding thin even to her own ears.
Eleanor said nothing for a moment, and somehow that quiet made room for honesty. It reminded Isla of Kirk. The same patience. The same stillness that seemed to say,Take your time. I’m listening.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Isla whispered, the words leaving her before she could stop them.
Eleanor waited.
“I came here today to review your restaurant,” Isla said, the confession tumbling out now. “After what happened at the market—after Kirk found out what I do—I thought...” She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what I thought. That I’d prove something. Show him who I am professionally.”
She gestured helplessly at the closed laptop. “This is what I do. I critique. I analyze. I point out flaws. My readers expect a certain voice from me—sharp, uncompromising, sometimes brutal. It’s my brand. It’s how I support Percy and myself.”
“And is that who you want to be?” Eleanor asked.
The question landed like a blow. “I... It’s who I’ve been for years now. People follow my reviews because they know I won’t sugarcoat. If I change that voice, I risk everything I’ve built.”
