Chapter Five – Isla
“Here we are at last.” Isla turned off at the sign for Bear’s Rest. And boy, did she feel as if she needed a rest. And a glass of wine.
She glanced at the bag on the passenger seat beside her.
After she’d bought sunscreen for Percy, they had wandered along the street looking in shop windows before heading into the grocery store for a few essentials.
Namely, ingredients for s’mores and a bottle of Thornberg wine.
She figured she deserved a glass after Percy had gone to bed.
“Is this where we’re staying?” Percy asked as he spotted the wooden cabins set among the tall pines.
“Yes.” Isla steered the car along the winding gravel path that led deeper into the property.
“It’s like we’re in a fairy tale,” Percy whispered, his face pressed against the window.
Isla had to agree. The cabins were spaced apart for privacy, each one nestled among towering pines that swayed gently in the mountain breeze. As they rounded a bend, a larger building came into view, a handsome lodge constructed of thick logs with a wide porch wrapped around it.
She parked in front of the lodge and switched off the engine.
“Can I get out now?” Percy was already unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Yes, but stay close.” Isla stepped out of the car, stretching her back after the long drive, and eyed the tree line for any sign of movement. She still couldn’t quite shake the image of bears and wolves in these mountains. It left her uneasy.
But then the door to the lodge swung open before they reached it, and a woman with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes stepped onto the porch.
“You must be Isla and Percy! Welcome to Bear’s Rest.” Her smile was warm; her arms outstretched in greeting. “I’m Melanie Thornberg. Most people call me Mel.”
“You’re Kirk’s aunt,” Isla said before she could stop herself.
“Guilty as charged.” Mel’s eyes twinkled. “I heard you’ve already met my nephew. Small town,” she said with a knowing smile. “Word travels fast.”
“We met him twice today,” Percy piped up. “First at the chili place, and then at the restaurant. He showed us the best table!”
“Did he now?” Mel chuckled as she ushered them inside the lodge, which smelled of cinnamon and wood polish. “You must be tired from your journey. Let’s get you settled in your cabin right away.”
The check-in process was mercifully quick. Mel handed over the cabin key attached to a wooden bear keychain. Of course.
“You’re in Aspen Cabin,” she said. “One of my favorites. It’s just down that path there.
You can drive right up to it. Everything inside is self-explanatory.
And if it’s not, there are instruction leaflets.
Call if you need a hand, but I find folks who come here prefer me to be as hands off as possible. ”
“Thank you,” Isla said, grateful for the warm welcome. And for the hands-off approach.
“Oh, before I forget…” Mel reached under the counter and pulled out a basket covered with a checkered cloth. “Just some essentials for your first night. Fresh bread, local honey, a few other treats.”
“That’s so kind of you,” Isla said, touched by the gesture.
“Ah, think nothing of it. We’re proud of what we produce here, and of our hospitality,” Mel replied simply.
Back in the car, they followed the winding path to their cabin. Percy gasped when it came into view.
“Mom! It has a chimney! And a porch swing!”
Aspen Cabin was everything the website had promised, and then some. The cabin was built from solid pine logs, with a steep-pitched roof and a stone chimney that promised cozy fires. A porch swing swayed gently in the breeze, and potted flowers added splashes of color to the rustic setting.
Inside, the cabin was warm and inviting, rustic without feeling old-fashioned. The main room held a plush sofa facing a stone fireplace, a small dining table, and a compact kitchen along one wall. A hallway led to what Isla presumed were the bedrooms and bathroom.
“Mom! Come see my room!” Percy had already dashed down the hallway ahead of her.
Isla followed, finding him bouncing on a twin bed covered with a quilt patterned with bears and pine trees. A small desk sat beneath the window, which looked out over the forest.
“This is the best place ever,” Percy declared, flopping back onto the bed.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Do you want to help me unpack the car?”
Together, they brought in their luggage and the groceries.
While Percy arranged his toys on the shelf in his room, Isla put away the food and explored the rest of the cabin.
Her bedroom was just as charming as Percy’s, with a queen-sized bed and a little reading nook by the window.
The bathroom was surprisingly modern, with a deep tub she immediately promised herself she’d use.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to find a text from her agent.
In talks with a national newspaper. Need to talk ASAP.
Isla stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the screen. This was the next logical step in her career. It offered security and a step up from the constant churn of online content.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket without responding. Not now. This place felt separate from that world, the world of metrics and engagement and carefully cultivated outrage. She didn’t want to puncture this bubble just yet.
“Mom, can we make a fire?” Percy appeared in the doorway, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“Absolutely,” Isla said, grateful for the distraction. “And I think we should christen this cabin properly, with s’mores.”
“Yes!” Percy pumped his fist in the air.
They worked together to build a fire in the stone hearth, Percy carefully arranging the kindling just as Isla had taught him on their few camping trips. Once the flames were crackling merrily, Isla brought out the supplies they’d picked up in town: graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.
“Can I have hot chocolate too?” Percy asked, already skewering a marshmallow on a long fork that had been thoughtfully left by the fireplace.
“I think that can be arranged,” Isla said, heading to the kitchen. She found a saucepan and heated milk, stirring in cocoa powder and a touch of sugar. The familiar motions soothed her, reminding her of winter evenings in their apartment, making hot chocolate after sledding in the park.
When the drinks were ready—topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows—they settled on the floor in front of the fire. Percy’s face was soon sticky with melted chocolate and marshmallow, his expression one of pure contentment as he assembled another s’more.
“This is better than a restaurant,” he said seriously, taking a big bite.
Isla laughed, licking chocolate from her own fingers. “Don’t tell Kirk’s brother that.”
“I won’t,” Percy promised. “But it is.”
After they’d eaten their fill, Isla checked her watch. “It’s getting late, but do you want to go outside and look at the stars before bed? I bet they’re amazing out here.”
Percy’s eyes lit up. “Can we?”
They bundled up in sweaters—the mountain air had grown chilly after sunset—and stepped onto the porch. Isla gasped. The night sky blazed with stars, more than she’d ever seen, even on their camping trips outside the city. The Milky Way arced overhead, bright and impossibly clear.
“Wow,” Percy whispered, his head tilted back so far he nearly lost his balance. “There are so many.”
“More than we could ever count,” Isla agreed, her arm around his shoulders.
They stood in silence for a long moment, taking it all in. Finally, Percy yawned, the excitement of the day catching up with him.
“Time for bed, I think,” Isla said gently.
Percy didn’t even protest as she guided him back inside. After brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas, he climbed into bed, his eyelids already drooping.
“Will you read to me?” he asked sleepily.
“Just a short one tonight. You need to get some sleep,” Isla agreed, selecting a book from the small stack they’d brought. She read until his breathing deepened into sleep, then quietly closed the book and kissed his forehead.
Back in the main room, Isla poured herself a glass of the Thornberg wine she’d bought in town. She wrapped herself in a soft throw blanket and stepped back onto the porch, settling into the swing. The wine was excellent.
Maybe she should have let Kirk talk her into a vineyard visit. But it all felt as if things were going too far, too fast.
And she wanted…no, needed, to slow down. Just for a little while. Lately, she’d felt stretched too thin, and she needed time to regroup before taking the next step in her career.
At least, that’s what she told herself. But she was afraid it went deeper than that.
Isla took a sip of wine and pulled out her phone, opening the app where she posted most of her content.
Her feed was full of the usual: restaurant reviews, cooking disasters, debates about food trends.
Her own most recent post was a scathing takedown of a pretentious chef who’d served her overcooked chicken.
She scrolled through the comments, noting the usual mix of support and criticism. People loved it when she was sharp, blunt, and uncompromising. The Unfiltered Food Critic, they called her. No-nonsense Isla, who wouldn’t let restaurants get away with anything less than perfection.
It all felt so performative now. Sitting here under the stars, with the taste of good wine on her tongue and the memory of Percy’s joyful face over a simple s’more, the online persona she’d crafted felt hollow.
It hadn’t always been that way. Once, she’d loved food for the joy of it, for the way it brought people together. She’d wanted to be a chef herself before life had taken a different turn.
Isla took another sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through her.
For the first time in years, she didn’t feel that old, gnawing resentment over how her life had unfolded.
The desperation that had driven her when she’d first started her blog—as a single mother, struggling to make ends meet, leveraging the only skill she had—seemed distant tonight.
She’d built something from nothing, yes. But at what cost? The constant negativity that fueled her brand had seeped into the rest of her life. Every meal became something to critique rather than enjoy. Every chef became an adversary rather than an artist.
She set her phone down, no longer interested in the endless scroll of comments and likes.
Instead, she looked out at the dark forest around the cabin, sipping her wine and letting herself be still.
Not planning content, not crafting clever put-downs, not building her brand.
Just existing in this moment, in this place.
The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end. A prickling sensation crawled across her skin, and she sat up straighter, her senses sharpening. There was something out there in the forest. Not something threatening. She didn’t feel afraid.
But it felt like something... other. Watching. Protective, almost.
Isla set her wine glass down and stood, moving to the edge of the porch. She peered into the darkness between the trees, trying to make out shapes in the shadows. The feeling intensified, not fear, but awareness. A connection to something primal, something that resonated deep within her.
Her breath caught in her throat as she thought she glimpsed movement. A shifting of shadows that might have been the wind through branches, or might have been something more.
“Mom?”
Percy’s sleepy voice called from inside the cabin. Isla turned immediately, maternal instinct overriding whatever strange moment she’d been experiencing.
“Coming, sweetheart,” she called, the spell broken.
She took one last look into the darkness, a strange reluctance filling her as she stepped back toward the cabin door. It was as if whatever was out there was calling to her on a deep, primal level.
In a way, she did not want to deny.