Page 42 of Meet Me at Sunset Cove (Jonathon Island #5)
Bronte was ready to hunker down and start working on this book. Now she just needed to find Mia Franklin and get the keys to the cottage she’d rented.
Having secured their luggage, Bronte and Aubrey disembarked and walked down Ferry Street.
The cutest row of white and gray shops—adorned with multicolored awnings, twinkle lights swaying in the slight breeze—lined both sides of Main Street, and fine, it was a little bit magical, decorated for Christmas with its lights and wreaths and ribbons.
Only a few of the shops stood vacant, but Bronte could tell this was the hub of the island. She had loved what she’d seen of Jonathon Island on the House to Home YouTube channel—yes, she was that person that would rather follow a YouTube series than watch anything on primetime television.
She couldn’t believe she actually stood here.
“Where are you headed?”
Bronte pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to her messages. “I need to find a Martha’s on Main and a Mia Franklin to get the keys to the place I’m renting.”
“Martha’s on Main is that way.” Bronte’s companion lifted her hand and pointed up the street. “I’m headed this way to catch a ride to my grandma’s.”
Bronte looked around, expecting to spot a car or Uber. She didn’t see any.
“Thanks.”
“Hope you have a great time while you’re here. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.”
They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.
The wheels on her suitcase complained as they rattled over the cobblestones, catching on the uneven walkway and threatening to spill. That’s all Bronte needed—for her suitcase to spill open on Main Street.
Bronte’s suitcase jerked her back as it got stuck on a divot in the street.
She shivered as a gust of cold air blew, cutting through her layers.
The sun was deceiving. It looked like it should be a nice day with no frigid air cutting through her coat to slice her bones.
Deceiving or not, Bronte couldn’t see how there were snowstorms predicted for later.
Not even cotton-ball clouds dotted the sky.
With one more jerk, the street gave the suitcase back, sans a wheel.
Bronte groaned. “Are you kidding me?” At least it wasn’t a busted zipper. Pocketing the rogue wheel, Bronte half dragged, half carried her suitcase the remaining three shops to Martha’s on Main.
Warmth of the restaurant enveloped her as she pushed in from the cold, suitcase dragging behind her.
The door clambered shut behind her as all the eyes of the patrons swung in her direction, and there were many.
For a random Monday a week and a half before Christmas, the place seemed packed.
Two older gentlemen played what looked to be an intense game of checkers, and there was another group of five, who looked to be deep in some kind of meeting, and she recognized a few people from the ferry.
“Just find an open seat, and we’ll be with you in a moment,” someone from behind the bar directed.
“I just need to meet up with Mia Franklin? She has the keys and directions to my rental.”
“Rental? There aren’t any rentals on the island.” A larger woman with gray streaking through her dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a too-gruff voice handed a plate to a waitress, who turned on her heel to deliver it to a nearby table.
“I, uh, am renting from Holland White?” Bronte rifled through her messenger bag, looking for the rental agreement she knew she’d printed out.
“Yes, yes, Martha, you remember. Holland is renting out their place while they’re in the Bahamas.” A dark-haired woman, no more than twenty-five, dressed in jeans and a white sweater, came up beside Bronte. “Hi, I’m Mia Franklin. You must be Bronte.”
Bronte took Mia’s proffered hand.
Martha huffed. “I still don’t know why the Whites had to go off to the Bahamas for Christmas. Who has heard of such a thing?”
“Sunshine, sand, and warmer than twenty degrees, Martha. Anyone could see the appeal,” Mia shot back.
Martha harrumphed, turned, and pushed through swinging doors disappearing to, Bronte assumed, the kitchen.
“Don’t mind her. I hope your trip here was good,” Mia said, leading Bronte back over to her dark wood booth where she had papers spread over the entire surface of the table.
Putting one knee on the booth seat, Mia leaned over to dig into her briefcase.
“Give me one second, and I’ll get you the keys.
Sorry about the mess. I’m working from here today since my kids are sick and at home with my mom.
Honestly, my office was just too quiet. I’d rather be where there’s people. You know?”
Bronte didn’t know.
Mia continued muttering to herself as she pulled her bag closer. It must be like a Mary Poppins bag with all the digging Mia was doing. Bronte shifted on her feet, not sure if she should offer to help or find a seat to sit down and wait, maybe get something to eat before heading out.
“Ah-ha!” Mia held up a set of keys on a dark-blue plastic keychain, like one you’d find at a vintage hotel.
“Found them.” She held them out toward Bronte.
“I went over there earlier today to make sure the heat had been turned up. The Whites have been gone for a few days already and aren’t scheduled to be back until after you leave.
If you need groceries or anything while you’re here, Doug’s Market is right down that way.
” Mia thumbed the direction toward the grocery store.
“Of course, you’ll also find Good Day Coffee, Island Pizzeria, and Kelley’s Bar & Grill, which, if you need something to do in the evenings, is the place to go.
They generally have line dancing or trivia night or something.
Always a good time. And of course, there’s Martha’s. ” Mia swept her arms out.
“Great.” Bronte flashed what she hoped was a thankful smile. After talking with Lexi and confessing exactly how much she had to get done out loud, it’d started sinking in.
What had she been thinking, waiting until the very last minute? And maybe she did have twenty-seven words down, but what she hadn’t told Lexi was that she’d written those months ago. She didn’t even know if they were going to stay.
What was her first line again? It didn’t matter. She was here now, and this book would get written.
“Is there an Uber I can call or…” Bronte trailed off at the amusement in Mia’s eyes.
“There are no cars on Jonathon Island.”
“Oh. Right.” Bronte knew that from watching the show, but hadn’t that been more of a reality TV stunt? “How do you get around, then?”
“Depends on the season. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, we walk or bike. The Quinns are working on getting horses back on island next season, and Asher Quinn—yes, that Asher Quinn—has started up a carriage tour business with the few horses still here.”
She actually didn’t know that Asher Quinn but promised herself she’d google him later. “That’s so…interesting.”
“It really is. If you just give me one minute, I can drive you over on a golf cart.” Mia started gathering her papers, tapping the stacks on the tabletop before slipping them in her briefcase and donning a coat, scarf, and hat.
“Oh, I couldn’t—” Bronte started.
Mia shot a pointed look at the missing wheel on Bronte’s suitcase. “Of course you can. You do not need to be dragging that thing through the streets of Jonathon Island. Besides, I’m done here anyway, and the Whites’ place is basically on my way home.”
Bronte took a step back to let Mia finish gathering her stuff, letting her gaze shift up to the white-tiled ceiling and pendant lighting.
Martha’s was a cute little restaurant, and from how many tables were full, the food must be good too.
Most everyone had gone back to whatever they were doing before Bronte stepped in. Thank goodness .
Mia straightened, pulling the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Don’t forget this.” Martha thrust a plastic bag filled with takeout containers in Bronte’s direction.
Bronte stared at the bag dangling from two of Martha’s fingers. “I didn’t order anything.”
Martha jiggled the bag. “I’m sure you’re tired from traveling all day.
I know Mia went up earlier and made sure there were some groceries and the like, but figured a little more couldn’t hurt.
And I live in the big white house only a few houses down from Holland’s, so if you need anything, just come by and ask. ”
Bronte’s face warmed, not sure why Martha would care about whether or not she had enough food. “Oh, thank you.” She took the bag, scents of something savory curling up with the steam. A pang shot through her stomach. Maybe she was a little hungrier than she realized.
Grabbing her suitcase by the top strap, Bronte stuck out her hip to help heave it up so she could hobble-follow Mia back out into the cold December air.
“Sorry it’s so cold.” Mia led them over to a blue golf cart. “And the ride over is going to be a little chilly, but luckily the Whites’ house isn’t too far away.”
They stored the suitcase in the back, securing it with a bungee cord. Bronte sat in the front next to Mia. Holding on to the handle, Bronte shifted as far over as she could on the golf cart’s seat. There wasn’t much room on the bench seat, but she didn’t need to be sitting in Mia’s lap.
Sighing, Bronte let her head fall back on the seat rest, head lolling to the side so she could at least see where they were going.
Or maybe she didn’t want to know. If she didn’t know, she would be less likely to want to get out and explore instead of staying put and getting the writing done.
Not that that wasn’t the plan to begin with.
They passed the cutest houses painted in white and dark blues. Bronte spotted a few houses’ landscaping showing off, even in the winter months. After only two minutes of driving, Mia whipped the golf cart into a driveway.