Page 16 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

Chapter Seven

W hy had Bronte thought she’d be able to make up her word count from yesterday? She couldn’t. Well, maybe she could if she were able to write the correct manuscript.

Dani, Liam, Cody, and Mia had left late, but since Bronte had decided to go to the Christmas stroll on Saturday, she’d stayed up to get extra words in.

After making herself another cup of tea, she’d gone to her room for the night.

She’d started writing just fine, but a hundred words in, another story idea had popped into her head.

She’d agreed to write the Pike book with a happy ending and had been attempting to work toward that, but instead, she hadn’t been able to get a scene for a completely different project out of her mind.

This one had friends and family gathered around and eating a big meal during the Christmas season, and there was a handsome military man with all the witty banter and adorable smiles.

Before she knew it, she’d had another document open, her fingers flying to get the scene out.

How the keyboard hadn’t caught on fire, she had no idea.

It had been well after two in the morning before she’d stopped writing and fallen into bed. She’d woken up around seven, the story still flowing out of her, and had spent the rest of the morning typing furiously.

When was the last time a story had come to her this easily? None of the Pike novels had come out like this.

The shrill tone of her cell phone startled her out of her story. Reaching over, she pulled it off the charger, only slightly disappointed to see it wasn’t Jonah. Not that he’d need to call her—or even had her number.

Pushing down the unfamiliar feelings, she answered the phone a little breathlessly. “Hello?”

“Good morning to you too.”

Bronte could hear the raised eyebrow in Lexi’s voice.

“I’d thought I’d call and make sure you were okay after talking to you yesterday, but it sounds like you’ve been…running?”

“Ha! The only way I would be running is if zombies were chasing me, and even then, it’s questionable.”

“I’d probably just let them take me. One thing I’ve never understood is, wouldn’t it just be easier if you hunkered down in a good hiding spot? Why is that never an option?”

“You might be onto something there, Lex. Next novel, I’ll make sure to write a zombie chase where everyone just hides.”

Lexi hummed. “Doesn’t make for a very exciting story, does it?”

“Not really, but to answer your question, no, I’m not running. I’ve been up for a couple hours working on a story.”

There was a beat before Lexi asked, “ A story? As in something other than the Pike story?”

Rats. Caught red-handed. Lexi knew her tendency to get a new story idea in the middle of what she was working on too well.

“Yeah. A story.” Bronte didn’t take the bait. She let her gaze wander to the window, surprised to see snow falling again. Maybe it’d snow until it buried the entire island. She hoped it would stop soon and that the extra flakes wouldn’t cause issues with Dani’s Christmas festival plans.

“A new story, Bront?” Lexi pushed out a breath.

“Come on, you’ve got to stay focused. You were contracted for the last Pike story.

We’re both in this business. We both know what happens when authors don’t meet deadlines, especially deadlines that have been extended twice already.

Your readers want the Pike Family Saga conclusion. You can’t disappoint them.”

Bronte sat up and hugged a pillow, both excitement and dread pooling in her belly. “I know you’re right, Lexi, but this story is different. It’s good. It’s so good. It’s about this guy and girl who?—”

“Bronte, I’m going to stop you right there.

” Bronte knew Lexi would be pinching the bridge of her nose at this point.

A dreaded habit picked up from her mother.

“I am really glad you’re excited about a new story, but you have to finish the Pike Family Saga.

It’s due in three weeks. Give me those weeks, and then you can work on whatever new story you’re excited about. You’re almost done.”

Disappointment stuck to Bronte like a wet blanket. Lexi was right. She needed to focus. But that didn’t keep her from trying one more time. “You don’t even want to know what it’s about?”

“Yes, I very much want to know what it’s about, but in three weeks. Hold on to it until the end of this deadline, and then go crazy.”

Bronte fell back on her pillow, blinking away the tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “What if I can’t finish the Pike book? What if it’s awful and terrible and everyone hates it?”

“Hey, you’ll get it done,” Lexi promised. “And if it’s awful, well, that’s what edits are for.”

“Right.” Bronte didn’t feel Lexi’s vote of confidence.

“How’s the hunky G.I. Joe doing today?”

Bronte was glad for the change of subject, but it didn’t do much to quell the dread in the pit of her stomach. “Actually, I’m not sure. I haven’t been downstairs yet this morning.” But she knew he was up, because she’d heard him earlier and smelled coffee and breakfast.

“Whyever not?”

“Because I’m scared of the person I might turn into when I head downstairs.” Bronte blinked at the confession, realizing how true it was.

“You sound like you turn into the wicked witch or something.”

“The opposite, actually. I lose all sense of work ethic, and I find myself agreeing to baking cookies and watching movies and dinner parties and…” Flirting with Jonah, talking to him, making deals about writing happily-ever-after books…but she was loath to admit that to Lexi.

“It sounds like fun, and let’s be honest, Bronte, you could use a little of that in your life right now.”

“But the book.” The real reason she was on Jonathon Island.

“One thing I know about you is that you work really well under pressure. You just need to make sure that when you do sit down to work, it’s on the novel that you’re under contract for.

” A phone rang somewhere on Lexi’s end of the call.

“Hey, I have to get that, but really, Bronte, I know you can do this. Just stay focused on the correct story.”

“Thanks, Lexi. I’ll talk to you later?” But Lexi had already hung up.

Bronte set her phone back on the nightstand and pulled her laptop onto her lap.

She minimized the new story and pulled open the document for the Pike story…

and stared at the blinking cursor. Heaving a breath, Bronte blew a rogue curl from her face.

Five hundred words, and then she’d go have some of that fun she and Lexi had talked about.

Whether or not she holed herself up in her bedroom all day, staring at the blinking cursor that mocked her, five words for the Pike novel weren’t coming, much less five hundred.

Instead, at every little sound, she strained her ears to see if she could figure out what Jonah was doing.

She had smelled coffee and breakfast hours ago.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that smelling breakfast was all she had done.

Bronte groaned and closed her laptop. She wasn’t getting any work done up here. Might as well go sit at the kitchen table, where she didn’t have to wonder at every little sound what Jonah was up to. Not that she cared. Not that she should care.

Making sure she had on something decent (another pair of black leggings and a black sweatshirt—this one had “Eat, Sleep, Write, Repeat” on the front, a reminder she should heed) and that her hair wasn’t trying to take over the world too much, Bronte grabbed her laptop, notebook, and phone and headed downstairs.

Which she found completely empty.

Bronte frowned. Where was Jonah? He was here, because she’d heard him banging around not ten minutes before. Maybe he’d gone back upstairs and was taking a nap? But she hadn’t heard him come back up the stairs. Had she?

Whatever. She didn’t care what Jonah was doing. She’d come downstairs to write at the kitchen table. For a change of scenery. That’s it.

Setting herself up on the kitchen table, Bronte opened her laptop and stared at the last words she had written on the Pike manuscript.

Garbage. Where had she even been going with that sentence?

She hit backspace, wishing she could backspace until the entire document was erased.

Not that that would help her situation at all.

Bronte hovered the mouse over the new story idea.

Maybe she could use this as a warm-up. Hadn’t Jonah said working on a different project for a little bit worked for him?

Yes, she’d let herself write for fifteen minutes on this story, and then she’d get back to work on the one that was under deadline.

Determined, Bronte cracked her knuckles like an old noir writer, tapped out a beat on the kitchen table, and started writing.

“Whoa, looks like someone got her mojo back.”

Bronte started at the sound of Jonah’s voice and slammed her laptop shut, as if caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’m not doing anything.” She leaned an elbow on her laptop and turned to face Jonah.

Dressed head to toe in big, fluffy, very blue snow gear, Jonah waddled into the kitchen. “Right. What are you working on?”

“I may or may not be writing a rom-com.” Bronte shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“You look like you got in a fight with the Cookie Monster and lost. Or maybe the Cookie Monster lost and you’re now wearing him.” Bronte gasped. “Did you do something with the Cookie Monster?”

Shuffling over to the table, Jonah plopped down in a chair next to her. “What if I am the Cookie Monster, and Jonah is just my disguise?”

Bronte considered him for a minute. “I think that sounds even more terrifying. So, what’s all this?” She waved a hand in his direction.

“Snow gear. I thought we could go for a midday stroll into town and maybe get some lunch at Martha’s.” Jonah leaned over, trying to tug on a second pair of socks. Bronte bit her lip to keep from laughing.