Page 22 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
“It’s going to take forever to get all of these up.” And she didn’t have time for that.
“It’ll be fun. We just need the perfect ambiance.” Jonah grabbed a remote, and with the push of a couple buttons, the fireplace flared to life. Another remote, and Christmas music started playing softly from a surround sound.
“Surround sound? That would have been nice to know when I was watchingStar Warsthe other night.”
Jonah grinned. “I love that you’re intoStar Wars, by the way. Maybe later we can watch my favorite—Rogue One.”
Bronte snorted. “I knew you had good taste, but I’m really surprised you aren’t up in arms that Jyn and Cassian didn’t get their kiss before the end.”
“Let’s be honest. Jyn and Cassian should have kissed at the end of that movie, but they gave us so much more than a kiss. Their whole love story is”—Jonah put his fingers to his lips—“chef’s kiss.”
She found herself shaking her head and smiling at Jonah before she caught herself. She flicked her gaze back to her computer. It wasn’t exactly calling her name, but if it’d had eyes, they’d have been boring into her right about now.
She cleared her throat. “Well, if you don’t need any more help with the boxes…” Bronte thumbed over her shoulder toward the couch. With all the boxes everywhere, she’d need to move back to the kitchen table. “I’ll just…yeah.” She turned on her socked heel.
“Wait.” Jonah’s hand wrapped around Bronte’s wrist. They froze, both of their gazes dropping to Jonah’s hand. A second later he dropped her hand and stuck his in his pockets, as if to keep them to himself. “I mean. I thought you could…I thought you’d want to help set up and decorate the tree. It’s the best part.”
Jonah looked like a little boy who was asking for a cookie.
“I told you. I haven’t ever decorated anything for Christmas.” Bronte shrugged. “I’ll just be in the way.”
“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn,” Jonah pushed. “I promise you’ll have fun.”
“More than likely, I’ll just mess it all up.” She hadn’t meant to say that. She’d meant to tell him that she had lots of work to get done and it was better if she left the decorating to him. There was a reason the saying wentYou can’t teach an old dog new tricks.Thirty-two wasn’toldold, but it was old enough.
Jonah scoffed. “Not a chance.” He stood up a little taller. “I’m not going to force you to come decorate the tree, but I promise you’ll have a lot better time than you’ve been having staring at that computer.”
Bronte looked longingly at her computer. Jonah was correct in his assessment that she’d have more fun decorating than she would working. At this point, she’d probably have more fun getting her wisdom teeth pulled. “Writing is normally the fun thing. I’m not sure what’s happening to me.”
Jonah tried one more time. “Maybe you’ll get some inspiration while we decorate.”
If there was even a sliver of a chance she’d get some inspiration…“Fine. I’ll help decorate the tree.”
“Awesome.” Jonah did a little jig that had Bronte giggling.
Giggling? Bronte didn’t giggle. She bit the inside of her cheek.
“I’ll start getting the tree base put together if you want to check the lights and see which ones work,” Jonah said
Bronte tugged a box labeledlightscloser to an outlet and popped the lid off. If she’d expected a nice, neat string of lights, she had another thing coming. It looked like the lights had revolted and hosted a rave while locked in the dark side of the attic. Untangling this mess was going to take her all day.
“Um, Jonah.” Bronte held up a tangle of lights. “Are these supposed to be this way?”
“Holland Renee.” Jonah put his hands on his hips. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told her that she’ll regret putting the lights up that way. She just never learns.”
“Looks like it’s just us regretting it this year. Holland is on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean without a care in the world.”
“This is true.” Jonah abandoned the box he was currently digging through, which Bronte was pretty sure was the IKEA version of an evergreen forest, to join in the quest to untangle the lights. How many strands were shoved in this box, anyway?
Forty-five minutes later, Bronte decided she was done with the whole Christmas decorating thing. A group of kids was singing “Jingle Bells” through the sound system speakers, and between her and Jonah, they had only untangled four strands of lights—of which only one had all the lights working. Bronte could feel a headache coming on.
Sitting back on her heels, she rolled her neck. “You said this was going to be fun and there was no way I could mess anything up.”
“First of all,” Jonah started, freeing another strand from the mess, then pointing inside the box, “this is not anything you messed up. This is all Holland. And second, you aren’t having fun? How could you not be having any fun? This is the most fun I’ve had in three months, four days, thirteen hours, and fifty-four minutes.” Jonah wagged his eyebrows up and down.
“Apparently you need to get out more, and I’m really questioning what it is that you did three months ago that could be as fun as this.”
“Went swimming in a fountain with a beautiful German woman.”
