Chapter Twenty – Kirk
The chilies needed him. Even as he feared, his mate did not.
Kirk moved between the neat rows of plants, methodically checking each one for signs of distress.
What about our signs of distress? his bear asked, replaying the moment their mate had walked away earlier that day.
As Kirk pictured Isla’s face, he knew his bear was right. Their mate had been distressed, too.
Kirk shook his head as he ran his fingers along the glossy green leaves of a vigorous plant. I should have handled it better.
Restaurant destroyer.
The words still burned in his mind. How could the woman who had stood in his kitchen, who had handled wild mushrooms with such reverence, who had kissed him beneath the moonlight, be the same person who made her living tearing down what other people had made?
Worse, he feared she had come to Bear Creek to destroy his family’s restaurant. And that was what tore him up the most. If her life took her elsewhere, he would follow. No questions asked.
But if she tried to destroy the Thornberg Restaurant with one of her brutal reviews, it would hurt his family in ways she would never understand. And perhaps force him to choose between them and her.
And that would be a terrible choice.
His bear went suddenly still. She’s here.
Kirk froze, his hand suspended above a ripening habanero. The awareness came first—that peculiar tug in his chest that signaled his mate was near. Then her scent reached him, carried on the humid greenhouse air.
Something felt different.
Different in a way that made hope flicker to life despite his better judgment.
The door hinges creaked softly. Kirk didn’t turn around. Instead, he focused on the plant before him, running his thumb over the smooth skin of the pepper. He heard her footsteps, hesitant on the stone path that ran the length of the greenhouse.
“Kirk?” Her voice was low, uncertain in a way he had not heard before.
He straightened slowly and turned to face her. Isla stood halfway down the path, sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling and casting dappled patterns across her face. She looked tired, her eyes dark, and he could not tell whether she had been crying.
It took all his strength not to go to her, wrap her in his arms, and tell her he loved her above everything else in this world, no matter what.
But he stood where he was. This moment would shape whatever came next.
And it had to be their choice, not fate’s.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
“I went to the restaurant.” The words tumbled from her in a rush. “To your family’s restaurant.”
Kirk’s muscles tensed. His bear, so still moments ago, growled low in his mind.
“To review it?” he asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
“That was the plan.” Isla took a step closer, her hands twisting together in front of her.
“I had my laptop open, fingers on the keyboard. I was going to write the most cutting, clever review I could manage.” She paused, looking down at her hands.
“I was hurt and angry after what happened at the market, and I wanted to… I don’t know, prove something. ”
Kirk crossed his arms over his chest. “And did you? Write your review?”
“No.” She met his eyes then, something raw and honest in her gaze. “I couldn’t do it. I sat there watching Percy help Rachel in the herb garden, talking with your mother, and I just… couldn’t.”
His bear perked up, curious despite its wariness. Kirk moved to a nearby workbench, putting a little distance between them as he tried to process what she was saying.
“My mother?” he asked.
“Eleanor sat with me,” Isla explained. “She asked me what I really wanted.” Her voice caught slightly. “It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a long time. One I’ve avoided because it felt safer not to look too hard for the answer.”
Kirk busied his hands with a small trowel, turning it over and over. “And what did you tell her?”
“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 who foraged 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.”
“Not anymore,” Kirk replied.
“No,” she agreed. “Not anymore.”
The greenhouse was quiet around them, filled only with the soft drip of the irrigation system and the distant call of birds outside. Kirk studied her face, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation.
There was none.
When their lips met, it felt different from all the kisses that had come before—not desperate like their first, not wonder-filled like the one after his shift, not wild like the ones they had shared in the forest. This kiss held something steadier. Something that felt like a beginning.
Kirk drew back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I love you,” he said simply, the words he had been holding back finally finding their way out. “And I love Percy too.”
Isla’s eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling. “I love you too,” she whispered. “So much it terrifies me sometimes.”
“Then let me spend the rest of my life proving you’re safe with me,” Kirk promised, drawing her closer. “Because this chili farmer isn’t going anywhere. Not through the good, and not through the bad.”
“Add in a little spice now and then, and I’m sold,” she said lightly.
“Oh, I was thinking plenty of spice,” he said, kissing her lips again. “All the spice you can handle.”
“Show me,” she murmured, breathless.
And he did.