Page 25 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

Chapter Eleven

S he was falling for Jonah.

She couldn’t fall for Jonah. It wasn’t—practical. She needed to prevent the walls protecting her heart from completely shattering. She needed to keep herself safe and Jonah at arm’s length. Jonah wanted something she couldn’t give him, and look how that had turned out with Brad.

Still. One kiss from Jonah and she’d felt more than any of Brad’s hundreds of kisses had ever made her feel.

She should tell Lexi more than the quick update she’d just texted her, but she didn’t want her friend worrying about her in another relationship after what felt like minutes since Bronte had found out about Brad’s engagement.

Was that all this was? Was she trying to make herself feel better because Brad had already picked someone new?

Lexi

So let me get this straight. You slipped, hit your head, and Jonah came to your rescue? You’re an idiot, but a genius romantic idiot.

Bronte

Only you would think slipping and falling to be romantic. I hit my head really hard. I could be dying.

Lexi

Oh, right. Are you ok?

Bronte rolled her eyes, and then promptly winced at the pain shooting through her head.

Bronte

I’m fine, Lex.

Fine, if not a little confused. Had she really kissed Jonah last night?

Her lips still tingled, and she bit down on them to keep from smiling.

Bronte dropped her phone on the side table and stretched her arms over her head.

The last thing she remembered from the night before was Jonah insisting they needed to watch an old Claymation movie with Rudolph and Frosty.

They must have fallen asleep during the movie.

Jonah was still asleep on the wingback, his Santa-socked feet propped on the coffee table, and his neck at a weird angle that made Bronte wince. That was going to hurt later.

Gingerly, Bronte felt the knot on her forehead. Still tender, but at least a little smaller. Scooting off the couch, she grabbed the quilt she’d been using and draped it over Jonah.

She tiptoed to the kitchen, shook two ibuprofen from the bottle, and popped them in her mouth, swallowing them dry before putting the kettle on the stove. A strong cup of tea and her laptop were what she needed. Even if what she wanted to do was curl up on the couch and go back to sleep.

Waiting for the kettle to sing, Bronte thought back to the night before.

About the kiss she could still feel. She had to be crazy to be thinking about kissing Jonah.

She had sworn off relationships after Brad.

She was broken goods, and she’d do well to remember she was better on her own.

Even if she felt different around Jonah.

Felt like he actually cared. Had she felt like that when she and Brad first met?

She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so.

Her phone pinged with another incoming text from Lexi. Seeing that it started with “How is your book…” Bronte set her phone to ignore all notifications before laying it face down on the countertop.

Lexi didn’t need to know how dismal her word count still was.

That would just bring up questions of what she had been doing instead of writing and who she had been spending all her time with.

Which would ultimately turn into Lexi telling Bronte to forget about the fun she told her to have and to just write her book.

Bronte gazed at Jonah, sleeping on the wingback chair.

He looked so peaceful, hands folded across his chest. Like an old man who had fallen asleep watching the nightly news.

Bronte bit back a smile before turning back to the kettle that just started to boil.

She had just told herself she was better on her own, and here she was ogling Jonah. Again.

Tea made, she slid in front of her laptop, which was still sitting at the table where she’d left it the day before she and Jonah had walked to town.

She’d had every intention of coming back and working, but instead, she and Jonah had stayed up all night nursing her headache with eggnog, popcorn, and old Christmas movies.

Heaving in a deep breath, she toggled her mouse to the Pike Family Saga document on her laptop. Today was a new day, and she would get a massive amount of words written—hopefully on the correct book this time.

It was amazing how hard it was to get words on the page when one had a splitting headache.

Anytime she thought about the plot of the Pike Family Saga and tried to add more romance into it, another pulse would shoot through her skull.

So she did what any normal person trying to get a book written would do.

She worked on the project that made her happy and didn’t make her head feel worse.

Three hours in and she had added almost five thousand words on the wrong project.

She still found it ridiculous she was writing a rom-com.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d written this much in a small amount of time.

Her fingers flying over the keyboard brought a smile to her lips.

She loved it when a story flowed like this.

“How’s it going?”

Bronte squealed.

Jonah appeared next to her, hair wet from a shower, the scent of his soap filling her senses. “I’m so sorry. I thought you saw me!” he apologized, hands up in defense.

“When did you even get up from the couch?” Bronte choked out, her hands on either side of her computer on the kitchen table, grounding her. “I didn’t even see you leave the living room.”

“I can tell,” he said, sliding into the chair next to her. “How are you doing?”

Bronte tried to shrug but winced at the movement of her head. She hadn’t realized her pain meds had worn off. Or even that she’d been sitting at the table long enough for them to. “I’m doing okay.”

“Do you have a headache?”

“Maybe a little bit.” She squinted. “Nothing that I can’t live with.”

“When was the last time you had meds?”

Bronte looked at the clock on her computer. “A few hours.”

Jonah shook two ibuprofen from the bottle and slid the glass of water sitting in front of Bronte a little closer. She took the pills and washed them down. “Thank you.”

Jonah ran a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I slept so long. Sorry about that.”

“We stayed up pretty late. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.

I’m surprised you’re already up. It’s barely lunchtime.

” In fact, he looked like he could use a few more hours of sleep.

The bags under Jonah’s eyes had bags. “And besides, I really needed to get some work done. No point in waking you up just to watch me type.”

“But what if you’d needed something?”

“I’m sure it would have been fine, Jonah. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Well, thank you for letting me sleep. I can’t tell you the last time I slept that long. I guess jet lag and everything finally caught up with me.” Jonah pushed away from the table. “Are you hungry?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving,” Bronte said, closing her laptop.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so wrapped up in a story that she’d lost track of time.

It was a good feeling. But now that Jonah had mentioned food and she’d realized how long it had been, her stomach let her know that it had been neglected.

“I meant to get up and go to church this morning,” Jonah said, pulling out tomatoes, onions, and garlic.

“Little Stone Bible Church? The one that donated all the fun snowmen accessories for the contest yesterday?” Bronte asked, moving from the table to the island bar.

“That’s the one.” Turning the tap on, Jonah ran the tomatoes under the water. “I grew up in that church. Do you go to church anywhere in Tulsa?”

Bronte shook her head. “I haven’t been to church in…” She thought back. When was the last time she’d been to church? “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Shaking the extra water off the tomatoes, Jonah placed them on the cutting board.

Bronte shrugged. “I was in some good homes and some not so good homes.” Bronte picked at something that had dried on the counter.

“One family, the Martins, took me to church with them on Sunday mornings. I really enjoyed it. I felt like I belonged there. I even asked Jesus into my heart and got baptized—I did all the right things, but…” Bronte sucked in a shaky breath, not sure why telling this story made her emotional.

She’d loved that church, but in the end, the inevitable had happened.

“The Martins had planned to adopt me, but they got pregnant and my adoption fell through. I was only with them for six months before I was moved again.”

Jonah was quiet for a moment before asking, “Did you get moved a lot?”

“I did.” Bronte left it at that and went back to picking at the spot on the countertop.

“I think that’s when I decided that it was all too good to be true.

All that stuff about being adopted into God’s family.

I guess I’m too much for God too. Or not enough.

Brad told me that as well, among other things. ”

“Brad?” Jonah’s eyebrow quirked as he glanced up from chopping tomatoes and onions.

“Yeah, Brad. He is…was my boyfriend.” Stop talking . It was one thing to tell him about failed adoptions and growing up in foster care, but it was a whole other thing to tell him about Brad. “We broke up earlier this year.” Or rather, he’d broken up with her. “He said a lot of things.”

“I’m sure most of them weren’t true.”

Bronte blinked, looking Jonah in his eyes the color of the ocean, and she believed him. She believed that what Brad had told her wasn’t true.

“Bronte, you’re never too much for God. God can always handle your problems, and I want you to know that you’re always welcome here too.”