Page 7 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

Chapter Four

B ronte’s eyes flew open.

Sunlight streamed through the window—a window that took her six point three seconds to realize wasn’t in her apartment. A few seconds more, she remembered why.

Jonathon Island. The place she was going to finish the Pike Family Saga.

Except that she wasn’t. She would be heading home instead because someone decided to show up for Christmas without telling anyone, and now she had to figure out how to get off this island and back home so she could finish her book on time.

No use delaying the inevitable. Maybe she’d get lucky and be able to sneak out without having to see Jonah.

Something about him threw her off. She’d expected him to get angry that she was here and his family wasn’t.

Instead, he’d let her stay and told her they’d figure it out today.

But there wasn’t anything to figure out.

There was no way she could get work done with someone else in the house.

Last night she’d been gung-ho to make him leave, but she couldn’t kick him out of his family’s house.

It was on her to find somewhere else to stay, and staying on island sounded impossible.

Martha had said everything was already booked and put the cherry on top when she’d told Jonah he couldn’t stay at the apartment over the clinic (whatever that meant) because the doctor renting it owned a cat.

After firing off a quick text to Mia asking if she could possibly get a ride back to the docks, Bronte threw on a clean pair of black leggings and an even blacker sweatshirt.

She double-checked that nothing had been left in the antique dresser she’d so carefully unpacked into the day before, then she stuffed everything down into her suitcase and zipped it up.

She just needed to make it back home so she could start writing.

Room packed up, Bronte stood, hands on her hips, surveying to make sure she didn’t leave anything.

After a quick check in the bathroom, she heaved the suitcase up to her hip and tiptoed into the hallway.

She practically held her breath as she made her way down the stairs, still hoping not to wake Jonah, not exactly sure where he’d landed for the night.

It wasn’t until she got to the bottom step that she heard noises in the kitchen.

She peered over the banister, down the hallway, and into the kitchen.

Jonah stood at the stove, dressed in gray sweatpants and a dark-blue shirt that strained against his muscles. It should be illegal to look that good in sweatpants. If Bronte wore the same outfit, she’d be labeled homeless, yet somehow on Jonah it just looked…right.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come in here and get something to eat?” Jonah asked, never turning from the stove.

Bronte propped her suitcase on the wall next to the stairs so it wouldn’t fall over due to the missing wheel, then followed the scent of something amazing into the kitchen.

She made it all the way to stand next to Jonah before she heard something fall behind her.

Both she and Jonah turned to find her suitcase in the middle of the entryway. Good for nothing piece of junk.

Jonah looked at Bronte, one eyebrow quirked up. “Going somewhere?”

“You can’t expect me to stay here, and I’m not about to kick you out of your family’s house.

I mean, you leaving would be the polite thing to do and all, since I’ve paid to stay here, but seeing as apparently there isn’t anywhere else on this island to rent, one of us is going to have to go. It might as well be me.”

Jonah’s warm laugh made her stomach dip.

“It’s not funny.” Panic rose in her chest at all she had to get done. “I have work to finish, and it’s not going to get done with me traveling all over the place. I’m just going to head home and work from there. It wasn’t the plan, but I’ll just have to make it work.”

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

She hadn’t expected that reaction. “W-well,” she stammered. “That’s very nice of you. Did you find another place to stay until your family gets back?”

Jonah winced as he shook a jar of spice over the eggs and potatoes he was cooking. “About that…”

Bronte’s stomach clenched.

After setting the wooden spoon he’d been stirring with on the ceramic spoon rest, Jonah took Bronte by the shoulders and pointed her toward the picture windows.

“I got ahold of my sister this morning, and after I got a lecture on keeping up with my emails—because apparently Mom emailed me about the cruise two weeks ago, which I completely missed—we figured out it would take a small fortune for me to fly out to meet them, so they told me to just stay here for now. They’ll be back stateside on the twenty-sixth.

I’m planning on flying down and meeting them then.

I’d get a ride back to the mainland and find a hotel there, but it looks like that’s not possible for the next couple of days at least. We’re a little stuck. ”

Snow covered everything in white. In fact, where there had once been patio furniture, now there was just one big lawn of white. It reached halfway up the picture window, and snow was still coming down.

Bronte’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean we’re stuck? We can’t be stuck. I-I have work to do.” None of which required her to go anywhere. Hadn’t she just said she didn’t have time to travel? Now it seemed she had all the time in the world to work.

“Guess you’ll be working here, then.” Jonah pulled a plate from the cabinet and set it on the counter. “That is, if it’s portable. I’m assuming it is? What do you do?”

“How long until we can get out?” Bronte asked, ignoring his questions.

“A couple days at least.”

Bronte’s chest tightened.

“But the fridge is well stocked, I have the faucets dripping so the pipes don’t freeze, and there are generators in the garage in case the electricity goes out.”

“Electricity goes out?” Bronte squeaked. There was only one way this nightmare could get even worse—and that was it.

Jonah shrugged. “I wouldn’t be worried about it. I think the last time the electricity went out because of a snowstorm I was fourteen, so it’s been a while.”

That didn’t make Bronte feel any better. This entire trip had gone to pot. Why not throw in a little power outage with a hot Army man?

Ninety thousand. Ninety thousand. Ninety thousand .

The reminder was back, chanting in her head. If she didn’t get started soon, she might have a mental breakdown.

“Would you mind getting some coffee going while I finish making breakfast? I poured the last of the pot a half hour ago.” Jonah held up his mug, draining what was left.

“Um, sure.” Bronte’s gaze flickered to the paperback that was open, pages down on the table. A rom-com. Bronte rolled her eyes. Between the book on the table and having drunk an entire pot of coffee, had Jonah slept at all? It was only seven thirty.

“Coffee filters are in that cabinet there.” Jonah nodded to the cabinet next to him as he dished out the eggs onto a plate, storing the plate in the microwave to keep them warm before putting bacon in the pan.

Bronte’s mouth watered. She loved bacon.

But coffee. She needed to make coffee. Not that she’d ever made coffee before.

She didn’t drink the stuff. It tasted like burnt mud-water.

Not that she’d ever had burnt mud-water, but if she had, it would’ve tasted like coffee.

She could figure this out—she had done plenty of research on making coffee for her books, given that the Pike sisters were all obsessed with the stuff.

Plus, she was a successful thirty-two-year-old woman.

Making a pot of coffee should be no problem.

She opened the cabinet and stared at the assortment of mugs and carafes and bags of coffee.

“Holland likes her coffee, and she hosts Bible studies here and always has the best on hand. She has her beans shipped in from one of her favorite roasters and makes her own syrups. I prefer mine black, but I do have to say, my sister can make a mean mixed coffee drink.”

Bronte nodded, finally seeing a box of paper filters.

Step one down, she turned to the complicated-looking coffee setup.

How had Martha done this the night before?

Bronte had been standing right there when the older woman had brewed a pot, but she hadn’t been paying the least bit of attention.

Bronte thought she’d just have to push a button and coffee would magically start brewing, but this was unlike any coffee maker she had ever seen.

This looked more like a science experiment waiting to happen.

She looked over to Jonah. “I’m…”

“I know it looks complicated, but you just put the filter and grounds in the top there and hit that button there. Ow!” Jonah jerked back as the bacon grease popped.

Bronte shook her head. Grounds? Right. But exactly how many grounds went into a pot of coffee? She picked up the bag and flipped it over, searching for directions. “I’m not a coffee drinker, so I don’t really know…” She sounded ridiculous. Who couldn’t make coffee?

“Oh! Sorry. Here, switch with me.”

Before she could say anything, Jonah reached over, fingers curling over her hips as he moved her in front of the bacon. She stared down at the spatula in her hand, halfway wondering how it’d gotten there so quickly.

“So, if you don’t drink coffee, what do you drink? Tea? Hot chocolate?” Jonah asked as he expertly moved from the grinder, pouring the grounds into the filter that was at the top of the science-equipment-looking thing.

“Tea.” Bronte jumped when the bacon popped. As much as she loved bacon, she’d forgotten how much she hated cooking it. “You know, this is a lot easier when you cook it in the oven.” The bacon popped again. “Less of a mess, and no casualties.”