Page 11 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
“It’s rented out to the traveling doctor, Dr. Nova Lake. She’s a tiny thing,” Martha said. “And besides, even if she was visiting somewhere else for the holidays, Dr. Nova has a cat, and unless something has changed while you’ve been traversing the world with that Army of yours, you don’t do cats.”
“Oh.” Jonah blinked. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll call around.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket.
“Jonah Ray White, it is almost eleven thirty. You’ll do no such thing.” Martha batted the air like she was going to hit Jonah’s phone out of his hand.
Jonah paused, finger hovering over the screen of his phone. “Oh, right.” He let it fall to the counter with a clatter. “Do you have an extra bed or couch I can crash on for the night?” He flashed a hopeful smile at Martha.
“Nope. I have a lot of extended family that came in, plus all the kids. My house is stuffed fuller than a can of sardines.”
Bronte’s chest fell. That would have made things a lot easier.
“I guess it’s too much to hope for that the Grand Hotel has a room ready?”
“Rooms won’t be ready for guests for another couple of months at least.”
“The Island House Inn, then,” Jonah suggested.
“All booked up for the holidays.” They were all silent for a beat before Martha straightened. “Well, now that you two are all settled, I’m going to make my way back home.”
“You’re going to leave me alone with him?” Bronte sputtered, shooting up from the stool.
Martha looked Bronte up and down before her gaze flittered over to Jonah. “You’ll be fine. Jonah is a gentleman. A soldier. He knows how to respect a woman. Right, Jonah?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Pshaw. Don’t ma’am me, mister. Even if I did used to change your diapers in the Sunday school nursery way back when.” With that, she shuffled out of the kitchen, taking the cup of coffee with her. Bronte wasn’t sure how the woman expected to sleep after all their excitement plus adding a cup of coffee on top of that. Maybe she’d made decaf?
Bronte heard the door open and close. She looked back to her apparent roommate for the night. He looked exhausted. Bags hung under his piercing blue eyes, making Bronte wonder how long it had been since he’d had a good night’s sleep.
Jonah pushed at his sleeves, revealing tattoos that snaked their way up his arm, disappearing under his shirt and making Bronte wonder how far they went. Did they stop at his elbow? Wrap their way up his arms to his chest? Arms and chest that looked very muscular, if the way his T-shirt pulled was any indication. She swallowed.
“So, Bronte, was it?”
“Yeah, and Jonah?”
Jonah nodded. “Look, I’m really sorry about this. It’s all my fault. I probably should have given my family a heads-up that I was coming in for Christmas this year. It had been so long, though, and I thought surprising them would be more fun.”
Now that the excitement of Jonah’s ambush and Martha’s visit, and the disappointment of being told “Just kidding! You can’t stay here” was sinking in, Bronte found that she was exhausted.
She held a hand up, cutting off whatever Jonah was rambling on about. “You know what? I’m tired. I think I’m just going to go to bed.” She gathered her laptop and notebook, looking longingly at the yellow velvet couch, wishing she were able to stay.
“Okay. I really am sorry. We’ll figure something out tomorrow.”
Bronte just nodded as she passed Jonah and trudged up the stairs.
Only when she stood behind the closed bedroom door did she allow herself to breathe. She took in the blue floral bedspread, the antique dresser, the perfect alcove with a window that looked out over Jonathon Island and onto Lake Huron.
It had been perfect.
Even if she hadn’t gotten started on work right away, she knew this place held the magic she didn’t believe in to get her book written. Now she could feel that magic slipping through her fingers. Tomorrow she’d leave on the first ferry and find a place to stay on the mainland. She supposed it’d have to work. Magic or not.
Leaning up against the door, Bronte pushed out a breath, determined not to think about all the ways staying in a house with a complete stranger could go wrong—even if Martha had vetted him. Jonah seemed safe enough, but Bronte locked the door and wedged a chair under the handle for good measure.
After a quick shower, she fell onto the bed with a sigh and grabbed her phone off the nightstand to look for hotels on the mainland. The two closest were showing no vacancy. Did she really want to stay somewhere that wasn’t here, or would it be better to just head home? She’d like to be away for Christmas, but she couldn’t afford another two days of travel.
Sighing, Bronte shot off a message to Lexi, who would definitely still be up working. The woman was a workaholic.
Bronte
