Chapter Eighteen – Kirk
Kirk’s knife glided through the crimson flesh of his latest chili hybrid, as the market bustled around him, filled with voices and movement that felt like the heartbeat of Bear Creek.
He arranged the slices carefully on a wooden board, creating a gradient from mildest to boldest—a visual invitation to the curious palates that would soon wander over to his booth.
“You’re going to burn someone’s taste buds clean off with those,” Leo called from the neighboring stall, where he was arranging his heirloom tomatoes in a rainbow of reds, purples, and golds.
Kirk snorted, not looking up from his work. “At least my produce has character. Those tomatoes of yours are just vegetables pretending to be exciting.”
“Tomatoes are fruit, genius,” Leo fired back, tossing a small Cherokee Purple in Kirk’s direction. “And at least mine don’t make people cry.”
Kirk caught the tomato one-handed and took a deliberate bite, juice running down his chin. “Happy tears, brother. They cry tears of joy.”
Their familiar banter warmed him almost as much as the afternoon sunshine.
The Bear Creek Local Flavors Market had been running for generations, but Kirk never tired of it—the camaraderie, the pride in showcasing what they’d grown, the simple pleasure of sharing food that had come from their own hands.
The square hummed with activity. Ellen’s honey stand glowed amber in the sunlight, jars lined up like liquid gold.
The Mendez family had brought their preserves, jewel-toned jams in neat rows.
Farther down, Mark Holloway was slicing samples of his famous smoked trout, while the heavenly scent of fresh bread drifted from Sara’s bakery stall.
This is what matters, Kirk thought as he arranged the sample cups beside his chilies. Food grown, made, and shared.
His bear stirred contentedly. Community. And our place in it.
Kirk nodded slightly to himself as he worked.
His bear had been unusually settled since that morning, the restless energy of yesterday replaced by a deep, satisfied calm.
He knew why. After Isla had left, he had spent a couple of hours in his greenhouse tending his chilies with particular care, preparing for today’s market with a sense of purpose that felt sharper than usual.
Because she might come.
She and Percy both.
As if he had conjured her from his imagination, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. She was here.
A few minutes later, a small burst of movement caught his eye—a flash of sandy-brown hair weaving through the crowd. Percy. The boy was hurrying ahead, his face filled with excitement as he spotted Kirk’s booth. And behind him, moving at a more leisurely pace…
Isla.
She’s here, his bear sighed, settling at once into a deep, contented stillness. Our mate.
The sight of her walking through the market hit Kirk harder than he had expected. Her blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she wore simple jeans coupled with a blue sweater. The memory of her in his bed that morning, warm from sleep and soft against him, flashed through his mind.
For a moment, everything felt exactly as it should.
“Kirk! Kirk!” Percy called, skidding to a stop in front of the booth. “We came to try your chilies! Mom said I could have a taste of the not-too-spicy kind!”
Kirk grinned down at him. “Well, I just happen to have a special mild blend that might be perfect for brave dinosaur experts.”
“Really?” Percy’s eyes widened. “Did you make it just for me?”
“As a matter of fact…” Kirk began, but Leo appeared beside him and crouched down to Percy’s level.
“Hello there, young man,” Leo said, extending a hand. “I’m Leo, Kirk’s much more handsome brother. And I have something you might like even better than fiery chilies.”
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 becoming ordinary—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 was brutal.”
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. So much 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.
The woman who had recognized her was scrolling through her phone now. “Oh, you have to read her review of that steakhouse… What was it called? The one where she compared the chef to a pyromaniac with a vendetta against cows?”
Laughter rippled through the small crowd. Kirk saw Percy looking up at his mother with confusion, clearly sensing her discomfort without understanding why.
“Actually,” Isla said, her voice strained but controlled, “we were just about to move on. Percy wanted to see the honey stall next.”
“But Mom,” Percy began, “I didn’t try…”
“Now, Percy,” she said firmly, taking his hand.
Kirk found his voice at last. “Isla,” he said quietly. “You didn’t mention you were a food critic.”
Their eyes met across the stall. Something complicated flickered over her face—regret, perhaps, or apology. But there was something else, too. A closing-off. A retreat behind professional walls.
“It didn’t come up,” she said.
Such a careful answer. Technically true, maybe. But it still felt like something important had been kept from him.
His bear gave a low, unhappy growl. She didn’t trust us with the truth.
Kirk held her gaze. “It feels like something that should have come up. I didn’t realize your work meant being so hard on things people care about.”
“Mom reviews food,” Percy offered helpfully, looking between them with growing confusion. “She’s super good at it. People read her stuff all the time.”
“I’m sure they do,” Kirk said, keeping his voice even for the boy’s sake.
The market carried on around them, but the warmth had gone out of the day. Kirk could feel Leo watching him carefully, picking up the shift in mood. The crowd’s attention was already beginning to drift elsewhere, but the damage had been done.
Restaurant destroyer.
The phrase lodged in Kirk’s mind, impossible to shake.
“We should go,” Isla said softly. “It was nice seeing you both.”
She tugged gently on Percy’s hand, but the boy resisted. “Can’t I have my chili sample first? Kirk made it special for me.”
Kirk’s heart tightened at the disappointment in Percy’s voice. None of this was the boy’s fault. He quickly prepared a small cup of the mildest blend.
“Here you go, buddy,” he said, handing it over. “Just a little taste at first, all right?”
Percy accepted it solemnly. “Thank you.”
“Percy,” Isla said, her voice strained, “we need to go now.”
The boy looked between them once more, clearly aware that something had gone wrong but too young to understand what. With obvious reluctance, he moved back to his mother’s side.
“Bye, Kirk,” he said, his small face serious. “Bye, Leo.”
“Goodbye, Percy,” Kirk replied, wishing he knew what to say—how to explain the knot now sitting hard and cold in his chest.
Isla met his eyes one last time, something like regret flickering across her face. Then she turned and led Percy away, their figures swallowed up by the crowd.
Leo moved closer and clasped a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “Everything all right?”
Kirk barely heard him. He stared at the space where Isla and Percy had stood only moments before, his mind replaying every conversation, every shared meal, every intimate look.
And for the first time, he wondered whether it had been as real for her as it had been for him.