Page 2 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The girl took a step back, eyes wide. “Aubrey Jennings.” She thrust her hand in Bronte’s direction.

Bronte clicked her phone off and dropped it back in her pocket, taking Aubrey’s offered hand. “Bronte. Parker. It’s fine. I didn’t need to scroll anyway.”

“Right.” The girl smiled and leaned against the railing next to Bronte. “Would you look at that?”

A large white building flanked in scaffolding loomed in the distance.

Dirty snow glittered on the ground and covered a crane sitting quietly to the side.

The Grand Hotel. Bronte remembered, after deciding to come to Jonathon Island, reading reports about the rebuilding of the hotel after it’d burned in a tragic accident years before.

She wished she had been able to get a room at the hotel, but since they hadn’t opened it to the public yet, she’d been compelled to find other lodgings.

“I’m so glad to see they’re rebuilding the hotel. It’s going to be gorgeous when they get it done.” Taking a big breath, as if coming to the island was clearing her head, she turned to Bronte. “Is this your first time to the island?”

Putting her hands in her pockets, Bronte nodded. “You?”

“Oh, no. I grew up here. My grandmother still lives here.”

“Back for Christmas?”

Aubrey clicked her knee-high boots as if she were Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz . Bronte half expected her to sigh There’s no place like home. “Yep. Staying until New Year’s.”

Her heart clenched. What would it be like to have family to visit for the holidays?

A grandma waiting for her on the other side of this ride.

Maybe with a steaming cup of tea and the world’s best snickerdoodle cookies.

When she had deadlines looming, she could visit her grandma, who would insist on making sure she stayed fed while Bronte’s fingers flew over her keyboard, creating characters and entire worlds.

A family didn’t have to be noisy and in the way. Did it?

“What brings you to Jonathon Island?”

Aubrey’s question snapped Bronte from her daydream.

Probably for the best. She didn’t need to spiral down the what-if tunnel.

She’d accepted that wasn’t a life she’d ever have a long time ago.

“Just visiting. I rented a cottage out for the next few weeks.” I’m on deadline.

I have a book to write , she finished silently.

Five bestsellers in, and she still found it hard to tell people what she did for a living.

“You’re going to love it on Jonathon Island. The Christmas season is my favorite. There are so many fun activities planned. Oh, and this year, I’ve heard they’re bringing back the ball.”

“The ball?” She vaguely remembered reading something about a ball when booking her rental, but she hadn’t looked too much into it since she was here to write her book.

“Yeah, the Christmas ball. I remember going to the Christmas balls when I was a teenager, but then the hotel burned down, and there hasn’t been anything like that on the island in ages. I’m so excited they’re bringing it back.”

On any other trip, attending a ball might have been fun. “I’ve never been to anything even remotely resembling a ball. Unless line dancing counts? I’ve done that a few times.” Bronte made a face.

“Maybe not quite the same.” Aubrey laughed. “Oh, and I hope they have the lights up in the town. It’s so magical.”

That word— magical . It sobered Bronte right up. There was nothing magical about Christmas. Not for her.

Not for anyone who was alone.

Bronte just nodded and tucked her chin further under her black silk scarf. She hoped the lights weren’t up. Didn’t matter though. She’d be hunkered down in her cottage the whole time, writing.

They fell into silence, watching the waves go by in a quick clip.

“So, what is it you do?” Aubrey asked.

Bronte hated this question. It always made her feel self-conscious. She accepted having to talk about being a writer when she went on tour, almost to a point where she enjoyed it, but in her everyday life? Nope. Why hadn’t she become something simple? Like an accountant. “I’m a writer.”

Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more questions after that, but Bronte knew better.

Aubrey’s eyes lit up. “That’s great. I always wanted to write a book. What do you write?”

Bronte’s second most-hated question. “Oh, just some family sagas.”

“I love to read. My ex and I used to have contests to see who could read the most books every year.” Her smile wavered just for the briefest moment before returning. “Are you published? Anything I might have read?”

She almost brushed off the question, but she’d just look more ridiculous when the truth came out. “The Pike Family Saga.” Almost six years since her first novel had launched her career, and she still felt awkward talking about it.

“Like the movie?”

Despite herself, Bronte relaxed. Fans of the movies were easier to handle than fans of the books. “Yes. Color of the Stars .”

Aubrey snapped her gloved fingers. “Yes, that’s it. Wow, so you’re like a celebrity.”

Bronte winced. “Not really.”

“So, are you working on the next in the series? Are there going to be more movies?”

“I’m working on the last book in the series.” Why she had been so adamant about that, she’d never know. Now that the end was here, she didn’t want to say goodbye. “But there should be more movies coming out. The rights were bought for the entire series.”

“That is so exciting.” Aubrey continued rambling about celebrities and movies and asked something about Liam Hemsworth, but Bronte’s mind wandered. All the movie, book, and Pike family questions were always the same.

She should talk to Lexi about asking the publisher if they could extend the series.

Bronte knew they would be on board with that idea.

But if she wanted to ask for more books, another contract, she needed to make sure this last book was the best one so they couldn’t tell her no.

Maybe Vivian Pike would run from the love of her life and move to an island.

Or maybe her love would be the one to leave her, and she would still go to the island, vowing to live out her days alone.

She could take over the apothecary shop, just like her mother had always wanted her to.

Where would the series go from there? Maybe she should throw in a secret love child.

Bronte wrinkled her nose. No. There would be no secret love children.

“Don’t you think?”

Bronte snapped back to the conversation at hand. Drat. Aubrey had asked a question, and Bronte had completely missed it.

The intercom crackled. “On behalf of everyone at Jonathon Island, we’d like to welcome you to the island.

We’ll be docking in just a few minutes, so please remain seated until the vessel has been secured to the dock and luggage carts have been unloaded.

Please take this opportunity to collect your things.

And lastly, please be courteous to your fellow passengers as you exit the ferry. Thank you, and have a nice visit.”

Saved by the boat.

“Well.” Aubrey pushed off the railing and turned to go back inside. “I guess that’s our cue.”

Turning, Bronte couldn’t help but sneak one more glance at the approaching island—her home for the next two weeks. Tall, bare trees peeked over the tops of the colorful buildings that dotted the shoreline.

She had studied the map of Jonathon Island for the last month, ever since she’d decided this would be where she hid away to finish her novel.

She could picture the shops along Main Street and the friendly smiles of the people who lived here year-round.

Jonathon Island was the perfect place to write the last Pike novel.

Bronte could already feel the inspiration calling to her from the island.

Okay, right. She could do this.

Nothing would get in the way of her finishing this novel.

* * *

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.

Even with a few of the shops vacant, 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.

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.