Page 43 of Meet Me at Sunset Cove (Jonathon Island #5)

The Whites’ cottage looked exactly as it did in the photos Holland shared online—white rock skirting the bottom third, giving way to dark, moody siding and black windows.

Bronte couldn’t wait to get inside. This place, this house, something about it put Bronte at ease, and she knew for the first time that she would get a huge chunk, if not all, of the next Pike Family Saga written here.

“Thanks for the ride.” Bronte slipped out of the golf cart and unhooked her suitcase from the back.

“Anytime.” Mia followed Bronte out of the golf cart and up the sidewalk to the front of the house.

“There are goodies in the cabinets, but if there’s anything that you need, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

I know you have Holland’s number, but I don’t think she’ll be available since they’re on a cruise ship. ”

“That’s really nice of you. Thanks.” Bronte clutched the bag of takeout containers while also keeping a grip on the top strap of the suitcase. The zipper could still decide to fail her.

Mia fell into silence next to Bronte, and they stood on the sidewalk. Bronte wanted nothing more than to escape inside, get settled, and start writing. Ninety thousand words . Ninety thousand words. The reminder beat a rhythm in her head.

“Well.” Mia clapped her hands together with a slap. “I’m going to get home and make sure my mom’s not going crazy. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all!” Waving, Mia got back inside the golf cart and, after backing out of the driveway, continued down the street.

Sitting back under trees and foliage, the house seemed to say Welcome. You are going to get so much work done.

“I hope so,” Bronte mumbled to herself as she jammed the key into the lock.

The inside was just as inviting, if not more, than the outside. Even though there weren’t any Christmas decorations (thank goodness), it still smelled of cinnamon and citrus.

Leaving her suitcase next to the front door, Bronte went farther into the house. The small entryway led down a short hallway to the open kitchen and living room.

The kitchen was the perfect kind of homey, with its speckled granite countertops and mossy green cabinets with gold hardware.

A window wall in the breakfast nook showed a big backyard.

A large island separated the kitchen area from the living room, and on that island, a pile of chocolate chip cookies sat on a Santa plate with a folded card sitting next to it that said, “Welcome to the White house, Bronte.”

Smiling, Bronte exchanged the bag of food from Martha for a cookie and continued her exploring.

The living room was the stuff of dreams, so different from her two-bedroom apartment that she’d never quite found the time—or energy—to decorate.

The mustard velvet sectional made Bronte’s heart pitter-patter.

She couldn’t wait to sink into it with her laptop and get to work.

A large, white fireplace took up most of the wall, flanked only by a dark wood piano.

She plunked at two keys while leaning over and studying the various pictures of whom she could only assume was the White family that covered the top of the piano.

She could almost watch the family grow up through the frozen images.

A man with sandy brown hair, the only indication he was older were the deep grooves in his face, sat next to a beautiful older woman with salt-and-pepper hair.

They were surrounded by—one, two, three…

Mercy, five kids, four of which were girls.

That poor brother. A handful of the siblings had dark hair, with one lone blonde sister.

The lone son stood behind his parents, his smile making Bronte feel as warm as the picture looked.

Another photo showed the son in military garb.

The intensity of his face in the photo made Bronte do a double take to make sure it was the same person.

Serious or not, it did nothing to detract from his handsomeness.

A face like that—strong jaw, defined chin, thick eyebrows sitting on top of blue eyes that sparkled with kindness—would give any Hollywood heartthrob a run for their money.

Taking her cookie, Bronte wandered up the stairs to the second floor.

There were four rooms, way more than Bronte could ever need, but this house would be perfect for pulling inspiration for the last Pike family book.

The room at the end of the hallway had an evergreen wreath bearing a placard with her name expertly calligraphed in gold.

After retrieving her suitcase from downstairs, Bronte unpacked, setting her folded clothes into the antique dresser.

She warred between tucking herself into the window seat alcove that overlooked Jonathon Island or heading back downstairs.

But with the quickly setting sun, the picturesque image would soon be painted in black.

Bag unpacked and decision about where to work made, Bronte grabbed her notebook and laptop and headed back downstairs to find a cozy spot to start working.

Settling on the velvet couch, she opened her laptop, trying to ignore the large picture windows that led to the backyard.

Holland had said in the listing that this was her childhood home.

What would it have been like growing up in a house like this?

Having four siblings to play with. Constant activity, running in and out, sports, homework, extracurricular activities. It must have been like a dream.

She’d hoped maybe one day she’d have that. Now…

A prick stung the back of Bronte’s eyes.

She blinked furiously. She needed to stop being ridiculous and get to work.

Having overactive retrospection wasn’t going to help her get anything done.

She let out a quick breath. Yes, work. Writing.

Getting the last Pike family story down.

The last one. This was it. After this she would move on to…

to what? Did she have anything after this?

“Focus, Bronte,” she told herself, ignoring how hollow and alone her voice sounded.

She stared at the blinking cursor. Fingers poised over the keyboard, Bronte closed her eyes to imagine the words she needed to write.

Her eyes flew open. She hadn’t texted Lexi to let her know she’d arrived.

Toggling over to the message app on her laptop, she fired a quick text to her friend, letting her know that she’d made it and all was good.

That finished, she moved back to her open document, closed her eyes again, and tried to conjure up the first line.

Her finger tap, tap, tapped against the side of the keyboard.

Ugh, this wasn’t working. Her brain must be too tired from all the travel.

Bronte slammed her laptop closed. No matter. She’d rest tonight and get started first thing in the morning.

She had waited this long to get started—one more night wouldn’t hurt.

* * *

Don’t miss a novel in our small town, sweet contemporary romance Jonathon Island series.

Welcome to enchanting Jonathon Island, a picturesque town built on love and legacy.

Whether you spend a weekend at The Grand, take a stroll down Lilac Lane, or cozy up in the Christmas Cottage, you'll fall in love with this heartwarming contemporary romance series, full of second chances and unforgettable love stories.

So pack your bags, grab your favorite book, and get ready to be whisked away to Jonathon Island, where happily-ever-afters are just around the corner.