“That I don’t want to live the way I have been anymore.” The words came out in a whisper, but they carried clearly in the quiet greenhouse. “I’ve spent years watching other people live. Judging what they make. Standing outside everything.” She took a deep breath. “I think I want to build something instead.”
The trowel stilled in Kirk’s hands. His bear went quiet, listening intently.
“I don’t know how to fit them together,” he said after a long moment. “The woman I saw cooking in my kitchen, the one whoforaged with me in the forest… and the critic people call the restaurant destroyer.”
Isla flinched at the nickname, but she did not look away. “I don’t know how to fit them together either,” she admitted. “For a long time, I didn’t try. I kept those parts of myself separate. The critic paid the bills, supported Percy, and gave us security. But being here, with you…” She gestured around the greenhouse. “You showed me what it looks like to create something. To nurture it.”
“That’s what you did once,” Kirk said, remembering their conversation by the fire. “Before you became a critic. You were going to be a chef.”
“I was. Or at least, that was the dream.” A small, sad smile touched her lips. “I loved it. But life happened, and the dream became someone else’s. And I was angry. I went to this restaurant, and the food was terrible. I knew I could do better, but I couldn’t. That life was closed off to me, so I wrote this stupid review. It was mean. So mean. But it went viral. Then I did another. And another. And I built a life for Percy and me off that voice.”
“At the cost of other people’s dreams,” Kirk said quietly, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Instead of anger, Isla’s face showed only acceptance. “You’re right. I built a career on tearing down what others had made. I told myself I was performing a service—protecting diners from bad experiences, holding chefs to high standards. And maybe that was true sometimes. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of why I loved food in the first place.”
She moved closer, stopping at the end of the row of chilies. “Being in your kitchen, cooking with ingredients we’d gathered together—it was the first time in years I felt like myself again. The real me, not the persona I created for my reviews.”
Kirk set the trowel down and took a step toward her. “And which one is the real you?”
“I’m still figuring that out,” she said honestly. “But I know I’ve never felt more myself than when I’m with you.”
His bear surged forward, eager and hopeful. Kirk tamped the feeling down, still cautious despite the hope spreading through his chest.
“So that’s it?” he asked quietly. “You’re ready to walk away from all of that? From what feels safe?”
“Meeting you… and your bear…” She smiled, though her eyes glistened with tears. “You’ve given me the courage to be something else. Someone my son can be proud of.”
“Oh, Isla, he is proud of you. You can see it all over his face when he looks at you.” Kirk dropped his tool—and his defenses—as he crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her. “And you should be proud of yourself. You did what you had to do to provide for your son. Any parent would have done the same.”
“I don’t know about that,” Isla said, burying her face in his shoulder.
“I do,” he murmured.
“You say the sweetest things,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
“And the spiciest,” he chuckled.
“Oh, you are most definitely spicy.” She looked up at him. “But in a good way.”
“I’m sorry about the things I said.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “I was just...”
“Being honest,” she replied. “And I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”
“So what now?” Kirk asked.
“Well, I’m not saying I’ll never write about food again,” Isla replied. “But there are other ways to write. Ways that build up rather than tear down.” She brushed her fingers against a nearby plant, gentle and careful. “I could use my platform to celebrate small producers, local ingredients, and traditional techniques.”
Kirk couldn’t help smiling. “Like chili farmers?”
“Maybe.” Her answering smile was tentative but real. “If a certain chili farmer were willing to share his expertise.”
“I might know someone,” Kirk murmured. He hesitated, then asked softly, “What about Percy? Do you think he could be happy here? With me?”
“Is that an offer?” Isla asked, as if she could hardly believe it.
“It is.” Kirk cupped her face in his hands. “We could build something here. With the chilies… and maybe, in time, a family too.”
“A family.” She swallowed hard. “I have thought for so long it would always be just me and Percy.”
