Page 40 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

Chapter Nineteen

B ronte had always thought she wouldn’t enjoy having a roommate, but since Lexi had practically moved in two days ago, Bronte couldn’t remember her reasons for not having one.

Pulling late nights and early mornings to get the book done meant it was nice to have someone there to make sure she ate real food, at least every once in a while.

The manuscript was in the homestretch now.

She only had the last fifteen thousand words to write and then a quick read-through before she turned it in on the fifth.

This was the closest she had ever cut a deadline, and she could feel the anxiety building.

All the same fears. Would she finish in time?

Would her editor like it? Would her readers like it?

Would this be the book to tank her career?

Shaking the useless thoughts from her head, she rolled her neck and stared at her empty teacup. She needed more tea to get through the final words. Lexi had left earlier, deciding she needed to hit up more after-Christmas sales. One thing about her new roommate was for sure—she liked to shop.

It was a little after noon, and Bronte thought about making some lunch but didn’t want to slow down long enough to eat.

The tea would do just fine, and maybe some popcorn.

She had gone to bed around three a.m. and woken up at six to get back to work.

The sleepless nights were paying off. She was going to finish today. Maybe.

Using the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she swiped at the sleep in her eyes and winced. The first thing she needed to do once she finished this draft was take a long, hot shower. Maybe Lexi’s shopping habit had more to do with the smell of her roommate than actually enjoying shopping.

She should text Lexi to pick up a couple of extra candles. Anthropologie was having a sale on her favorite scent. She shot a text off to Lexi while she waited for the water to boil.

Someone knocked at the door.

Or maybe Lexi was already home.

“Lexi, what happened to your key? Did you already lose?—”

Bronte opened the door to…NOT Lexi.

Blue eyes that haunted her dreams stared back at her.

Blue eyes and dark hair that, even though it was cropped short, looked like fingers had been run through it more than once.

He wore dark jeans, and his plaid button-up under his black coat was rumpled.

He twisted a black cap in his hands, standing outside her door, chewing on his lip.

“Jonah?” Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Traitor.

“You left.” His eyes were haunted, as if having her leave had almost undone him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, but Bronte wished he would pull her into his arms.

She needed to stop this. She was being ridiculous.

“I know I left.” She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel her toes.

What was happening to her? “I had to.” She wanted to reach out and touch him, pull him into her arms, but she was afraid that he wasn’t actually there.

What if this was just a figment of the little sleep she was getting, compounded by stress of the deadline?

“But we didn’t get the chance to talk about what you told me.”

“There was nothing to talk about, Jonah. No amount of talking can change it.” The teakettle whistled, and Bronte let go of the door handle and turned to walk to the kitchen.

Against her better judgment, she waved Jonah in over her shoulder. Maybe he would come in, or, more likely, he’d just turn into a wisp and disappear, just a wish. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jonah push through the door. Her heart leaped.

Maybe this wasn’t a dream. She pinched her arm. Ouch. Nope. Still awake.

“Are you pinching your arm?”

“What are you doing here?” Bronte asked. “And how did you even find me?”

“My sister had your address from the rental paperwork.”

“Oh.”

This was a terrible idea. There was nothing to talk about. Bronte had said all she was going to say on the matter.

“I told you we needed to talk,” Jonah said, making his way toward Bronte, slowly taking in her apartment.

Thank God Lexi had tidied up before she’d left this morning.

Bronte turned to take in the mess of takeout boxes still littering the coffee table, the throw blanket tossed half-heartedly over the back of the couch, and random balls of paper that were strewn about that Bronte had wadded up when, in desperation, she’d switched from typing on her computer to writing scenes out.

Okay, so maybe she’d only thought Lexi had cleaned up. Bronte turned back to her tea so she didn’t have to look at Jonah. Keep your eyes off Jonah, and maybe you’ll get out of here with your heart intact.

“Do you want some tea? Or Lexi might have some coffee around here somewhere.” Bronte opened the cabinet, looking for the coffee she knew Lexi had already finished. She froze when she felt him behind her.

She turned into Jonah’s firm chest and took a step back, bumping into the kitchen counter. Jonah leaned a hand on either side of her, trapping her in the circle of his arms. He leaned down so they were eye to eye.

“You left.”

Bronte focused her gaze to the ceiling, refusing to look at Jonah. Keep your eyes off him, Bronte . “I said all I needed to say.”

“I didn’t.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Mistake. “I can’t give you ki-kids. I can’t gi-give you the big family you deserve.”

“I only want you.”

Bronte’s laugh was bitter. “You don’t mean that.”

“I want you, Bronte, and if that means we can’t have kids, then we can’t have kids.”

“You can’t mean that,” Bronte whispered. “I know how this plays out.”

“No, Bronte, you don’t. I’ve just had the worst six days of my life.”

Bronte snorted. “I can’t be the reason you don’t get your dream. You might be okay now, but what about in five years, ten? You’ll hate me.”

“You are my dream, Bronte. A life with you. Seeing where this goes and where God takes us. We can make all the plans in the world, but if they aren’t God’s plans, they are nothing. He sent you straight to me—or maybe me to you, that’s up for debate, but who are we to question Him?”

If looking into Jonah’s eyes was a mistake, letting him talk was an even bigger one, his words a soothing balm to her weary soul.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Jonah put a hand on either side of Bronte’s face. Hot tears pooled where his hands met her skin.

Using his thumb, Jonah wiped at her tears. “Don’t cry, Bronte.”

He leaned in ever so slowly. Bronte wanted to throw her arms around his neck and pull him close and never let him go again.

The front door crashed open just before their lips met.

One voice screamed, “Yes!” while another yelled, “I told you so!”

Jonah groaned and dropped his forehead to Bronte’s shoulder. “Holland,” he growled as Holland and Lexi stumbled into the living room.

“Oh my gosh, they are kissing!” Holland said.

“I think we might have interrupted that part,” Lexi said, bumping Holland with her shoulder.

“Wait. Do you two know each other?” Bronte pulled away from Jonah, pointing back and forth between Lexi and Holland.

Lexi shrugged. “We actually just met. I bumped into them in the elevator.”

“And she heard me telling Jonah what he needed to do to win you back,” Holland added, throwing an arm around Lexi’s shoulders. “Lexi put two and two together, and here we are.”

“Have you ever met a stranger?” Bronte asked Lexi. No one would ever have guessed the two of them had just met five minutes ago.

“I don’t think either of them has ever met a stranger,” Jonah mumbled behind her.

“Bronte.” Lexi jabbed a finger in her direction. “Jonah is ten times hotter in real life.”

Bronte’s cheeks heated as Jonah pulled her back to him.

“Can you come back home with me and meet my family?” Jonah’s eyes pleaded with hers.

Bronte took a deep breath and stilled her face from the smile she felt growing. “Can’t.”

Jonah’s face fell, and Bronte let her smile break through. She couldn’t torture him any longer. “My book. I have to finish it and turn it in.”

“Actually,” Lexi said, pulling looks from both Jonah and Bronte. Lexi’s fingers were flying over the screen of her phone. “I bought you an extra week.”

“What?” Bronte’s heart pounded so hard she wondered if Jonah could feel it.

“Well, I just sent a nicely-worded email to your publisher, letting them know that you’ll have the manuscript on their desk by the twelfth.

Whoever heard of turning a manuscript in the first week of the year?

Everyone knows publishers are buried under their inboxes for at least the first full week back. ”

“Well, in that case…” Bronte put a finger to her chin.

“You’ll come home with me?” Jonah’s hands tightened around her hips, his touch the only thing keeping her feet on the ground.

“Let me think about it.”

Jonah straightened up and shrugged. She instantly missed his touch. “I guess we’re headed home, Holland. I only have a little over a week of leave left, and it seems Bronte is too busy for us.”

Both Holland and Lexi started to protest when Bronte grabbed Jonah’s wrist and pulled him back to her. “Shut up and kiss me, Jonah White.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re just going to see ourselves out.” Holland and Lexi tiptoed back into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Not being able to stand the space between them, Bronte rose on her tiptoes and softly pressed her lips to Jonah’s. She’d missed the feel of his lips on hers. Missed the fireworks shooting off in her head at his touch.

“Jonah,” she whispered, pulling away.

Jonah, eyes closed, found her lips again with his. “We’re supposed to be kissing.”

“I know,” she said in between kisses. “But I need to say this.” Before her head was too clouded with his kisses and his sandalwood and citrus scent.

Jonah leaned his head back but left his arms around her, his blue eyes staring into hers.

One could drown in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Eyebrows dipping into a frown, he asked, “For what?”

“For coming to find me. For not giving up on us. For choosing me.” Her voice wobbled with emotion.

“I will always choose you.” His eyes darted between hers. “Can we be done talking now? Because I really want to kiss you some more.”

She could only nod as he brought his mouth back to hers, claiming her lips with his own.

Sighing into his kiss, she let his words roll over her. She finally, really, truly belonged to someone—and she couldn’t have picked a better someone for herself.