Page 9 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage (Jonathon Island #6)

Bronte snorted.

“What?”

“Everyone likes Sanderson.”

Jonah shrugged. “Be that as it may, I still enjoy his writing. He’s created an epic world that you can escape to, and what is reading but a good escape?” Jonah picked up his phone, scrolling to the eReader shop app. “What did you say the first title in your series is?”

“I didn’t.” Bronte’s eyes sparkled over her mug as she took another drink of tea. Jonah didn’t think she was going to tell him, and he was going to have to search through all the “Bronte” hits the store app gave him when she finally said Color of the Stars .

Jonah’s mouth dropped open, and he let his phone drop to the table. “You’re B.L. Parker? I’ve read that one, and I saw the movie.”

“Really? And what did you think?”

He paused. “I hated it.”

“Oh.” Bronte’s face fell.

“Sorry, going on, like, an hour of sleep. No filter.”

“It’s fine. No worries.”

“No, it’s not fine.” The way her shoulders drooped, her mouth turned down—he’d insulted her. Maybe even hurt her feelings. The last thing he’d wanted to do. “Don’t get me wrong. The writing was amazing, but the story was just so…” Jonah trailed off, the word not coming to him.

“Long?” Bronte tried.

Her books, at over seven hundred pages each, were long. But that wasn’t it. “No.”

“Stupid?”

“Definitely not.” He’d only known her for a few hours, but he could see the intelligence snapping behind those big gray eyes.

“Unbelievable?”

“No. Just…sad.” It was a simple word, but it was the one that came to him. “I found the story really sad.”

Bronte scoffed. “It’s real life, Jonah, and most of the time, real life is sad.”

What had happened to this woman that she believed that ? “It’s okay for books to not always reflect real life. In fact, I prefer them to be happy.”

“Well, you read rom-com.” Bronte nodded at the book face up on the table. “They say write what you know, so I did.”

Had someone hurt her? A surge of protectiveness washed over him. “Bronte?—”

Bronte’s eyes flashed to him, and he could be mistaken, but there may have been tears in them. A blink later, they cleared. “Enough about me and my boring, sad books. What about you? What do you do? Martha called you Major? That’s Army, right?”

“Correct. I’m a surgeon.”

“Wow. I bet that’s exciting. You mentioned being in a different time zone. Where are you stationed?”

“Germany. Have you ever been?”

Bronte’s eyes brightened. “It’s on my bucket list. The closest I’ve ever been to Germany is the Munich airport for a layover. I promised myself I would make it back there one day.”

“You should. It’s a beautiful country.” But even with it being a beautiful country, it didn’t compare to Jonathon Island and the life Jonah wanted to build here.

“So, how long have you been a surgeon?”

“About ten years.” Jonah took a sip of his coffee, gaze drifting to the backyard. “Feels longer though.”

“So, you don’t enjoy it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s written”—Bronte waved a hand—“all over you. You don’t look like you enjoy your job.”

Jonah shrugged. “I’ve been at it for a while. I guess I’m just ready for something new.”

“Like what?”

Jonah paused. While Bronte seemed nice, he didn’t need to burden her with his own personal dilemmas. Best to stick with the facts. “The plan has always been that I’ll take over my dad’s practice once I retire from the Army. He’s got a temp doctor in there now?—”

“The traveling doctor with the cat staying in the apartment over the clinic?” Bronte cut in.

“Right.” Jonah nodded. “She’s here now, but Dad’s been hanging on to his share for me.”

“I sense a lack of enthusiasm for that too. You don’t want to move back here?”

“What? No—I mean, I’ve always loved the idea of raising a big family here. It’s a great place.”

“You don’t want to take over the practice, then?”

You do this, and you’ll break Dad’s heart. And if you’re planning on breaking Dad’s heart, don’t bother coming back at all.

Jonah cleared his throat, pushed back from the table, and made his way to the coffeepot for a refill. How did this woman see right through him? “Like I said. It’s always been the plan. My great-grandpa started the practice. His son took over, and then my dad took over. Now it’s my turn.”

“Hmm.” Bronte picked up her fork and started back in on her eggs. They had to be cold by now. “So how does Doctor Jonah White not know that his entire family is gone for Christmas?”

Not ready to sit back at the table, Jonah scanned through Holland’s homemade syrups in the fridge. Deciding on cinnamon and vanilla, he added them to his mug with a splash of cream. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I think you accomplished that on all accounts.”

“Indeed, I have.” Jonah raised his mug in a mock salute before taking a long gulp.

He blanched. Too sweet. “In my defense,” he said as he dumped the sugary concoction down the drain and poured himself another cup before sitting back at the table, “no one said anything about a Christmas vacation when I talked to them last, and I never got my mother’s email with the plans and invitation. ”

“Sounds like you need to check your email more often.”

Jonah pointed a finger. “You are probably exactly right.”

“You’re one of those people with, like, three thousand unread emails in their inbox, aren’t you?”

More like seventy-three thousand, but he wouldn’t admit to that. “Something like that. So…” Time for a subject change. “Bronte, author of epically long, sad books, what’s the plan?”

Bronte blinked up at him as if the change in subject had given her whiplash. “Plan?”

“Yes, plan. We’re stuck here, and you have work to do. What does that look like?”

“Oh, well”—Bronte pushed away her plate—“I guess I’ll take my suitcase back up to my room and unpack again.

I have quite a bit to write over the next couple of weeks, so I guess that looks like me just sitting at my computer getting all the words out of my head and onto the blank page until I’m done. ”

Where did that leave him until then? What did one do with a writer?

Her suitcase was still where it had fallen in the entryway when she’d come downstairs.

The thing looked like it weighed a ton. That was something he could do.

“Okay then. I’ll take your suitcase back upstairs.

If you want to get your computer, you can get started.

I’ll make sure there’s hot water on the stove for more tea. ”

Before she could say anything, Jonah rushed out of the kitchen and grabbed Bronte’s suitcase. He was right, it did weigh a ton. He hauled it upstairs, then deposited it in the room at the end of the hall that Holland had labeled with a wreath and sign.

Maybe this wasn’t the Christmas vacation he had planned, but he could say that having a little extra time before he talked about his future with his dad had him…relieved.

Now to find something to do for the next week and a half until he could fly out and meet everyone.