Page 1 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

Chapter One

S tanding on the open deck of a ferry in near freezing temps probably wasn’t the best idea, but Bronte preferred if no one overheard this conversation with her agent. Not to mention needing to escape a baby screaming its lungs out since they had boarded.

Bronte lifted her face to the sun, letting it warm her.

The Jonathan Island Ferry Company boat cut through the lake on its way to the island, and she found the slight bob relaxing.

Zipping the front of her coat a little higher, she shifted her phone to her opposite ear and resisted the urge to “accidentally” drop it into the water.

“Okay, run me through this again. You have how much written?”

Bronte winced, not wanting to admit just how little she had done. Maybe she could just fall over the side of the boat, but all that would probably get her was wet and freezing. “Lexi, don’t make me say it.”

“Are you in a wind tunnel or something? I can barely hear you. How much did you say?” Bronte’s best friend and agent practically yelled in her ear.

Bronte sighed and moved out of the sun and wind to tuck herself into the alcove by the door.

At least here, she’d still be able to watch their arrival to the island in relative silence.

She could still hear the baby’s cries, muted though they were through the door.

A pang shot through her heart, but she shook thoughts of babies and families from her mind as she turned from watching the Michigan shoreline grow smaller.

“Twenty-seven. That’s how much I’ve written.” Waves lapped against the side of the boat as it cut through the glassy water. “And I’m on a ferry heading to Jonathon Island. Remember? I told you I booked a place here for Christmas.”

“Twenty-seven thousand’s not bad, Bront. You’re at least, what? Twenty percent done?”

Oh, the faith her friend had in her.

“No, just twenty-seven. Two, seven.” On the book that needed to be at least ninety thousand words.

“Does my mother know you only have ‘two seven’ written on this project?” Lexi choked out.

“She would if I would actually answer any of her calls. I’m not sure why I need to answer her calls anyway.

You’re my agent now.” Bronte sank onto the bench that ran the length of the boat.

She could imagine this would be a coveted seat in the summer, the perfect location to watch the island growing closer.

In the winter, the wind cut through her layers like knives.

Bronte didn’t mind. The cold felt good, refreshing, after being in airports all day.

Besides, it rivaled the winter wind whipping down the plains in good old Oklahoma, which had been her home for just a little over two years now.

Bronte’s fingers gripped the bench seat as they passed under a bridge. Should she hold her breath or did the “holding your breath” rule only apply when driving through tunnels? “And you’d better not tell your mother just how far behind I am.”

“First of all, I would never. Second, I’m only your agent-in-training. My mother is still technically your agent. I’m not sure ghosting her is the best choice.”

Bronte snorted. “First, just because you’re an agent-in-training, doesn’t mean you aren’t my agent. You are. Also, Margot will be fine because she’ll never know how far behind I am. The newest installment of the Pike Family Saga will be on both of your desks by January fifth.”

“January fifth?” Lexi squeaked. “Bronte, that’s three weeks.”

“Saying it’s due next month sounds so much better, don’t you think?”

“Bronte!”

“I know, I know.” Bronte dropped her forehead into her hand. “But it’s fine. Totally fine. I’m going to get it done.”

“That’s, like, thirty thousand words a week. Over four thousand a day.”

“That’s so helpful. Thank you.”

“Sorry. It’s just…a lot.”

Bronte wanted to squeeze her eyes tight and pray the deadline just went away. “I know. And I’ve never been this behind before. But there was the press tour and movie stuff this year.”

“Which you have never let get in your way before.”

“It did this time.” And then there had been the surgery…

“This is all Brad’s fault.”

A heavy silence followed. Bronte’s chest tightened, and she blinked against the cold wind that was causing her eyes to well up.

No, she wasn’t going down could-have-beens.

She squared her shoulders. All of that had happened ten months ago—practically a year.

Brad was behind her now. She didn’t care about him.

She had a manuscript to write and a plan to execute.

“Okay, okay. No numbers, but I need you to hurry up and finish that book so the publishers can do their thing and we can go on tour again. You know you need your number one agent to shield you from all your raving fans.”

Bronte’s chest tightened. “Oh yay. Tour,” she deadpanned.

Why had she chosen a career that required her to fly to different cities to meet hundreds of strangers?

Calm down. A tour won’t happen for at least another year.

“If they mauled me, they would never find out what happens to Theodosia, Marisol, and Vivian at the end.”

“Are you going to finally give them their happy ending?”

Bronte stood and stepped back over to the railing, not caring if Lexi couldn’t hear her over the wind. She was tired of this discussion. Digging her fingers into the metal railing she replied, “You know I don’t write happy books.”

“I think you should. Wrap the entire series up in one big happy bow.”

“And how is that going to be realistic?” Bronte pressed.

“Sometimes it’s okay to give someone a happy ending,” Lexi said gently.

“Happy endings don’t exist.” At least, not in Bronte’s experience.

“Bronte—”

“Stop, it’s fine. I know there are authors out there that write happy books. That’s just not me. Write what you know, and what I know is not happy endings.”

“All right, I get it.” Lexi paused. “So, speaking of Brad?—”

“We weren’t speaking of Brad,” Bronte interjected.

Lexi ignored her and continued. “You’ve been staying off social media, right?”

“Yes…”

Lexi huffed out a breath. “Good. Good. That’s good.”

“What does my staying off socials have to do with Brad?” Bronte pulled in a deep breath. In the warmer months, she’d be able to smell the verdant greenery lining the lake and enjoy the fresh breeze, but not now while her nose was frozen.

“Well…”

“Lex, just spit it out already,” Bronte snapped, a little more sharply than she wanted. She chewed her bottom lip to keep from snapping again.

“Brad is engaged.”

All the air whooshed from Bronte’s lungs.

“Good for him.” She somehow managed to get the sentiment out.

Sucking in the cold air and willing it to freeze her heart, she reminded herself she’d traveled all the way to Jonathon Island to get away from any thoughts of Brad.

Dreams of holing herself up in the cutest little cottage that she had ever seen, head down, words flowing, started melting from her mind.

She would not give Brad anymore brain space.

She imagined herself taking a broom and sweeping Brad out of every crevice in her mind.

He wasn’t welcome there any longer. He’d made it very clear in February that he’d decided he wanted a family.

He wanted the noisy babies, and as Bronte couldn’t change her mind on the matter, he didn’t want to be in her life.

And now he was engaged. It didn’t get any clearer than that.

“Bronte? Did I lose you? Oh gosh, I shouldn’t have mentioned Brad. What was I thinking?”

“I’m here, but hey, the ferry is almost to the island.” They were only halfway there. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

“Sure. You have a wonderful time, Bronte. Seriously call me once you get settled?—”

Bronte shook her head even though Lexi couldn’t see her. “I’ve got to write.”

“Fine, send me a text. Send a carrier pigeon.”

Shifting the phone to her other ear, Bronte asked, “Do those even exist anymore?”

“Just let me know you got in and settled okay.”

“Yes, mother,” Bronte replied sarcastically.

With well-wishes of Christmas, Bronte ended the call and dropped her phone into the pocket of her oversized black peacoat.

Wind whipping at her hair, she curled her fingers tighter around the railing to keep them from doing something silly—like looking at her ex’s social media accounts.

She didn’t need to see Brad and his fiancée.

She had already swept Brad out of her mind.

But would one little peek really hurt? Once she arrived at the island, she’d put thoughts of her ex and his happiness out of her mind for good.

Ignoring the scenery she had been so looking forward to taking in, Bronte pulled her phone from her pocket and with laser focus, scrolled through the apps on her phone until she found the icon she was looking for.

Fingers seemed to fly over the face of her phone as she typed Brad’s username from memory.

The first image contained him and Marie, with Marie flashing one of the largest rings Bronte had ever seen.

“Look at that rock.”

Bronte startled, almost dropping her phone into the lake, as a girl in a camel-colored trench coat came to stand next to her.

She was a bit shorter than Bronte, but then again, Bronte had always been called a giant.

Five nine wasn’t that tall, but that hadn’t stopped boys in middle school from giving her the nickname.

It wasn’t her fault she’d been head and shoulders taller than them at that age.

Of course, it was better than them teasing her for being a foster kid.

The girl’s blonde hair shone in the sun and was tucked perfectly into her scarf and layers.

Blue eyes sparkled, and all of her features were a perfect kind of petite that Bronte had wished for her whole life.

After traveling all day, Bronte had swiped the last of the mascara off her face in the airport bathroom and had to wrestle her untamed curls into a knot on top of her head—which she was pretty sure resembled a bird’s nest at this point.