Page 1 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
ChapterOne
DateDecember 15
Days until Deadline21
Words to be written89,973
Standing on the open deck of a ferry in near freezing temps probably wasn’t the best idea, but Bronte preferred if no one overheard this conversation with her agent. Not to mention needing to escape a baby screaming its lungs out since they had boarded.
Bronte lifted her face to the sun, letting it warm her. The Jonathan Island Ferry Company boat cut through the lake on its way to the island, and she found the slight bob relaxing. Zipping the front of her coat a little higher, she shifted her phone to her opposite ear and resisted the urge to “accidentally” drop it into the water.
“Okay, run me through this again. You have how much written?”
Bronte winced, not wanting to admit just how little she had done. Maybe she could just fall over the side of the boat, but all that would probably get her was wet and freezing. “Lexi, don’t make me say it.”
“Are you in a wind tunnel or something? I can barely hear you. How much did you say?” Bronte’s best friend and agent practically yelled in her ear.
Bronte sighed and moved out of the sun and wind to tuck herself into the alcove by the door. At least here, she’d still be able to watch their arrival to the island in relative silence. She could still hear the baby’s cries, muted though they were through the door. A pang shot through her heart, but she shook thoughts of babies and families from her mind as she turned from watching the Michigan shoreline grow smaller.
“Twenty-seven. That’s how much I’ve written.” Waves lapped against the side of the boat as it cut through the glassy water. “And I’m on a ferry heading to Jonathon Island. Remember? I told you I booked a place here for Christmas.”
“Twenty-seven thousand’s not bad, Bront. You’re at least, what? Twenty percent done?”
Oh, the faith her friend had in her.
“No, just twenty-seven. Two, seven.” On the book that needed to be at least ninety thousand words.
“Does my mother know you only have ‘two seven’ written on this project?” Lexi choked out.
“She would if I would actually answer any of her calls. I’m not sure why I need to answer her calls anyway. You’re my agent now.” Bronte sank onto the bench that ran the length of the boat. She could imagine this would be a coveted seat in the summer, the perfect location to watch the island growing closer. In the winter, the wind cut through her layers like knives. Bronte didn’t mind. The cold felt good, refreshing, after being in airports all day. Besides, it rivaled the winter wind whipping down the plains in good old Oklahoma, which had been her home for just a little over two years now.
Bronte’s fingers gripped the bench seat as they passed under a bridge. Should she hold her breath or did the “holding your breath” rule only apply when driving through tunnels? “And you’d better not tell your mother just how far behind I am.”
“First of all, I would never. Second, I’m only your agent-in-training. My mother is still technically your agent. I’m not sure ghosting her is the best choice.”
Bronte snorted. “First, just because you’re an agent-in-training, doesn’t mean you aren’t my agent. You are. Also, Margot will be fine because she’ll never know how far behind I am. The newest installment of the Pike Family Saga will be on both of your desks by January fifth.”
“January fifth?” Lexi squeaked. “Bronte, that’s three weeks.”
“Saying it’s due next month sounds so much better, don’t you think?”
“Bronte!”
“I know, I know.” Bronte dropped her forehead into her hand. “But it’s fine. Totally fine. I’m going to get it done.”
“That’s, like, thirty thousand words a week. Over four thousand a day.”
“That’s so helpful. Thank you.”
“Sorry. It’s just…a lot.”
Bronte wanted to squeeze her eyes tight and pray the deadline just went away. “I know. And I’ve never been this behind before. But there was the press tour and movie stuff this year.”
“Which you have never let get in your way before.”
“It did this time.” And then there had been the surgery…
“This is all Brad’s fault.”
