Page 75 of Lassoed Love

Now seated at her small round dining table, steam wafting from the pasta bake, I notice Isla’s hesitation as she portions her plate—a slight nervousness evident. That won’t cut it. I can’t have her going hungry on my watch. Snatching her plate from her hands, I add a more substantial serving of both salad and pasta bake, setting it backdown with a gruff, “Eat. Don’t be shy around me, Isla.”

Her face flushes, caught off guard, but I can sense the internal debate. She replies back with a nod of reassurance and I then proceed to pile a mountain of food onto my own plate. She watches with wide eyes and a smile. “Fuck, I’m starving,” I mutter and wink at Isla—and with that, we both dig in. My mouth waters at the taste.Not bad, Xavier.

As we sit on her couch, a comfortable silence lingers after the satisfying meal. Isla, however, breaks it with a warm, “Thanks for dinner, Xav. It was really nice.”

I respond with a smirk, “No prob, it was nothing.”

Curiosity sparks as she asks, “Do you cook often?” Swirling the beer in my hand, arm casually resting on the back of the lounge.

“Sometimes. Learnt from young, though. Mum taught us all the basics, and I love to experiment with food here and there. What about you? Can you cook?”

I raise an eyebrow, teasing a bit. She smiles softly, but her expression shifts as her gaze drops to her hand, fiddling with her nails. “Um, yeah here and there. My Mum also taught me a thing or two. We used to cook together all the time, but now... I don’t do it as often.”

The change in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and she seems almost sad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up anything,” Iquickly apologise.

Shaking her head, she reassures me, “No, that’s okay. I should talk about her more, you know. I have nothing but fond memories of her.”

I can understand this, having lost my grandparents, although I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose a parent—I do know, however, that sometimes embracing happy memories can be a healthy coping tool and a source of comfort.

I bite the bullet and ask, “What was she like? Your mum, if you don’t mind me asking.” Isla looks at me intently, still twiddling her pointer finger and thumb.

She takes a moment, then softly begins, “Mum was... she was incredible.” She sighs.

“Warm, you know? Always had this way of making you feel safe and loved. She loved animals, just like me. I remember the days when she’d teach me about different species, their behaviours, and how to care for them. She had this endless patience.”

A hint of a smile plays on Isla's lips as she continues, “She used to say that animals could sense the good in people. That’s why I chose to be a vet. I’d developed a strong love for the idea and she always pushed me to pursue it. She had this gentle strength about her. Always there to listen and provide comfort.”

I listen attentively, appreciating the glimpse into Isla’s past. It’s a delicate topic, but one that carries a certain warmth, a celebration of a life well-lived. I find myself captivated by Isla’s words, her fond memories casting a glow over the room.

“She sounds amazing,” I say sincerely. “You must’ve learned a lot from her. I think you’re doing a great job carrying that legacy forward.”

Her gaze softens, and she gives a small nod. “Thank you, Xav. It’s not always easy, but I feel connected to her when I’m helping animals. It’s like she’s with me in those moments.”

I sense a profound connection between Isla and her mother, one that goes beyond words. “I’m sure she’d be proud of the person you’ve become,” I say, meaning every word.

Isla’s eyes turn glassy, and she shakes and clears her throat. “I hope so. Anyway, enough about me. Tell me more about your family, about Brad and Liv.

“Bradley has always been the quiet one—a man of few words,” I chuckle, recalling memories of our mischievous exploits. “But don’t let that fool you. When it came to pranks when we were younger, that guy was a mastermind. Olivia, on the other hand, had a knack for getting us out of trouble with her charm. She’d flash that smile, and suddenly, we were off the hook.”

Isla joins in with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Sounds like you had quite the dynamic trio.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I grin as I resume, “Now that we’re older, Bradley and Liv have conquered the art of getting under my skin. Bradley’s the agitator, always finding new ways to rile me up. Liv, she’s the mastermind of making things worse. She’s twenty-one, but I swear she acts like a child. They tag-team like pros.” I roll my eyes. Isla giggles.

As we navigate through the stories of my family, high school somehow slips into the conversation without a conscious thought. I notice a subtle shift in Isla’s demeanour. Her eyes widen, and she seems to squirm uncomfortably in her seat. A twinge of regret hits me, realising that high school wouldn’t have been the easiest time for her. I decide to tread carefully, choosing my words more considerately.

“Fuck, high school wasn’t my finest hour,” I confess. “I’ve had my fair share of regrets, especially with how I treated everyone, andyou.Fuck, honestly, if I could go back and change things, I would.”

As those words leave my lips, memories of the immature antics of my high school friends flood my mind. I wince at the thought of what Isla had endured from that group. Anger builds up within me, knowing I was part of that toxicity.

“Isla,” I begin, my voice firm with remorse, “I was a dick back then. Not just to everyone, but toyouespecially. I should’ve put a stop to those juvenile stunts, but I didn’t. I regret every moment of it. I’m not that boy anymore, and I’m sorry if my past actions hurt you or made those years harder.”

There’s a brief silence, and Isla appears apprehensive. I await her response, my gaze focused on her, hoping she understands the sincerity in my apology. A heavy sigh escapes her lips. The weight of the past seems to linger in the air, and she finally speaks, her voice a touch hesitant.

“I appreciate you saying that, Xavier. High school was... not the best time for me. But, like you said, it’s in the past. People do change—” her voice trails off.

In a moment of vulnerability, I add, “Isla, I need you to know something. You’ve always intrigued me. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to know more about you. You were always so quiet, had this allure to you,” I admit, the truth hanging in the air. “Because of that fascination, I acted out. Hated the fact that you infiltrated my thoughts, so I just went along with my mates’ dumb antics to hide it. I was an idiot—fuck, you don’t know how sorry I am.”

As the weight of my words settles, Isla stammers, clearly shocked and not sure what to say. I reassure her, “I don’t expect you to say anything. I just wanted you to hear me out.”

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