Page 15 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
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.”
“No way.” Jonah grabbed the kettle that still sat on the back of the stove from when Martha had made tea the night before and turned to fill it at the sink. “Bacon is definitely better cooked on the stovetop.”
“It’s like going to war for some bacon.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could stuff the words back into her mouth. Hadn’t Martha said Jonah was in the Army? Would he take offense to that statement? “I mean?—”
“You’re right, but what’s a few war wounds in exchange for protein goodness?” Jonah set the kettle back on the stove and bumped Bronte’s shoulder. “Speaking of, that bacon about done? It’s looking a little extra crispy.”
“Oh!” Bronte pulled at the paper towels, grabbing a wad and tossing it on the plate next to the stove before transferring the bacon. Jonah was right. It was extra crispy. She bit her lip. “Sorry. I hope you like your bacon crunchy.”
