Chapter Eleven – Isla
Isla could not recall the last time she’d enjoyed an evening like this. It had been a long time since she’d felt such joy in the kitchen. Maybe because her job had taken so much of that joy away.
She sighed and glanced at Kirk. The company hadn’t hurt either.
“Thank you for letting me cook in your kitchen,” she said, leaning against the counter. “I’d forgotten what it feels like to simply enjoy making something from scratch.”
Kirk glanced at her, his hands submerged in soapy water. “You’re welcome. You looked right at home in here.”
The words landed deeper than she had expected. Her entire career was built on judgment—on finding flaws, on clever criticisms that gained followers and views. Even meals with Percy sometimes became mental note-taking sessions for her blog.
But this evening, with Kirk, she hadn’t given her career a single thought. As she prepared the ingredients, her focus had been on making a meal that celebrated the food they had foraged. Or, as Kirk liked to call it, forest treasures.
Kirk handed her another clean plate. As their fingers brushed, she felt that same charged awareness that had been building all day.
“You’re very good at it, you know,” Kirk said. “Cooking, I mean.”
Heat flooded Isla’s cheeks. “I’m rusty. It’s been years since I cooked professionally.”
“Some things you don’t forget,” he replied. “Like riding a bike or...”
“Finding your way through a forest?” She finished for him, remembering how confidently he’d guided them earlier.
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Exactly.”
“Percy really enjoyed himself, too,” Isla said, putting away the last dish.
Kirk glanced toward the living room. “Should we check on our little forager?”
Our. The casual word sent an unexpected thrill through Isla. For a moment, it gave her a sense of belonging here. With him.
They walked quietly to where Percy lay sprawled on the couch, one arm flung over his head, his face peaceful in sleep. Kirk grabbed a soft blanket from a nearby chair and carefully draped it over him. The tenderness of the gesture made Isla’s throat tighten.
“I should probably wake him,” she whispered. “Get him back to the cabin.”
Kirk hesitated. “He’s pretty sound asleep. You’re welcome to stay a bit longer. I could build up the fire.”
Isla knew she should say no. They’d already spent the entire day with Kirk, and getting too comfortable here felt.
.. dangerous, somehow. But the thought of waking Percy, driving back to their cabin in the dark, and spending another evening alone while her son slept was something she chose to put off.
“Just for a little while,” she agreed.
Kirk moved to the stone fireplace and added another log, stirring the embers until flames licked upward. The fire cast a warm glow across the room, shadows dancing along the walls. Isla settled onto the sofa next to where Percy slept, tucking her legs beneath her.
Kirk joined her, keeping a respectful distance but close enough for her to be aware of his warmth. Outside, the forest had gone quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind through the pines. Inside, there was only the soft crackle of the fire and Percy’s gentle breathing.
Isla felt herself sink more fully into the moment. The day had been unexpected—foraging in the forest, cooking together, sharing a meal. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awake to everything around her.
“The mushrooms were incredible,” she said thoughtfully, breaking the comfortable silence. “Chanterelles usually have a kind of apricot note, but the nettle softened the bitterness. I didn’t expect that to work as well as it did.”
Kirk blinked. “It worked beautifully. You have a real instinct for flavor.”
“I’m not sure about that…” She gave a small shrug. “But I do spend a lot of time thinking about food.” She looked down at her hands, suddenly self-conscious.
“Do you ever miss that life?” Kirk asked. “Being in a kitchen like this all the time?”
Isla took a deep breath. This felt like a moment of choice—how much to reveal, how much to hold back. “I don’t know. For a while, I thought that would be my whole life.”
“What happened?” Kirk asked, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight.
“Life,” she said simply. “Percy happened. And I wouldn’t change that for anything, but once you’re responsible for another human being, your priorities shift.
” She traced a pattern on the sofa cushion, gathering her thoughts.
“Culinary school doesn’t exactly pay the bills.
And restaurant hours aren’t exactly compatible with single motherhood. ”
“So you found another way,” Kirk said. It wasn’t so much a question as an understanding.
“I did,” she agreed, careful not to mention exactly what that other way was. Her career as a food critic had saved them financially, but she wasn’t ready to share that part of herself with Kirk. Not yet.
Why? Because once she told him he’d likely look her up online. People always did.
And, for tonight at least, she didn’t want him to see her differently. She wanted him to see the part of her that created rather than judged.
“What about you?” she asked, shifting the focus. “How did you end up growing chilies in Bear Creek?”
Kirk leaned back, his expression thoughtful.
“I always knew I wanted to work with my hands. To grow things. The restaurant has been in my family for generations, and I love it. It’s wonderful—great food, and a real focus on giving people a special experience when they come in. But I needed something that was mine.”
“I can understand that,” Isla said. She knew that feeling well, even if what she wanted now was harder to name.
“So, I started small, with just three jalapeno plants in my parents’ backyard.
Looking back now, they were pathetic little things.
” He laughed softly. “But I learned. Every failed crop taught me something new.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“It took me seven years to save enough for this place. My brothers and I built that greenhouse by hand. Three weeks of blisters and arguments and beer after sundown.”
“You’re lucky to have such a supportive family,” she said with a twinge of jealousy. Maybe her life would have been different if she’d had a family to help support her through the hard times.
“I am. And there have been times when I’ve felt guilty about not being part of the restaurant. It’s not as if I ever planned to take a different path,” he admitted. “But sometimes the best things in life aren’t the things we plan for.”
His words resonated with her own experiences. Percy hadn’t been planned, but he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
“Do you ever miss the path not taken?” she asked, looking up at him.
Kirk considered this, his brow furrowing slightly. “Sometimes. But then I walk into my greenhouse in the early morning, when the light’s just coming through the glass, and everything’s quiet and growing, and I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
There was such certainty in his voice, such contentment. Isla felt a pang of something like envy. Her own career had been built on necessity rather than passion. She was good at what she did, very good, but the joy had leached out of it somewhere along the way.
“What about you?” Kirk asked. “Do you miss it? Not just feeding Percy, but really cooking?”
“Yes,” she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty. “Today reminded me of what I miss about it. Making something with your hands and watching someone enjoy it. There’s nothing quite like that.”
Kirk nodded. “You looked happy today. Really happy.”
Isla was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, how natural it felt to be here with him.
Somewhere during the conversation, the space between them had quietly narrowed.
Their knees were almost touching now, and when Kirk turned to face her, the firelight caught in his eyes and stole her breath for a moment.
Time seemed to slow as they looked at each other. Isla found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn by something she couldn’t name—or perhaps didn’t want to acknowledge. Kirk remained perfectly still, his gaze steady on hers, waiting.
The moment stretched between them. Isla’s heart thudded against her ribs as she hesitated, suddenly uncertain. Was she misreading this? Was it too soon? What if…
A small sound from the couch broke the spell. Percy stirred, mumbling something about dinosaurs before settling back into sleep. Isla pulled back, the moment slipping away.
“I should probably get him home,” she whispered, though the thought of leaving Kirk’s warm cabin—and whatever had grown between them there—made her chest ache.
Kirk nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I’ll help you get him to the car,” he said softly.
As they moved to wake Percy, Isla wondered what might have happened if her son hadn’t stirred when he did. And more surprisingly, she found herself hoping she might get another chance to find out.