Page 25 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
“This soup is really good.”
He hesitated for a minute, not sure if he should steer the conversation back to the one at hand or wait for another time. “Thanks. There’s just something about snow days that makes me want soup and grilled cheese.”
“Did you have lots of snow days like this growing up?”
“A few.” They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of Bruce Willis negotiating with a terrorist playing behind them.
“How’s the writing coming?” Jonah finished off the last of his soup and pushed his bowl away from him.
Bronte’s shoulder lifted in a shrug, but she didn’t say anything, instead just dunking her grilled cheese in her soup over and over and over again.
“Oof.” Jonah winced. “That bad?”
Bronte dropped the sandwich against the bowl and let her head drop into her hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like all my words have dried up and this story doesn’t want to be told.”
“Have you tried writing something else? I’m not a writer, but maybe if you worked on something else, it would jog your brain into gear. Maybe,” Jonah added after the glare Bronte shot him. “When I was in med school and couldn’t focus on studying, I’d doodle for fifteen minutes before switching back to studying. It worked for me.”
“I don’t have time to write anything else.” Her voice quivered. “I have to get this book done. I’ve procrastinated long enough. It’s due in three weeks, and I still have…” She paused, face scrunched up as if working figures in her head. “…around eighty-five thousand words to write.”
Jonah ignored the way she clamped her mouth shut, as if maybe that was information she hadn’t wanted to freely give.
And suddenly, he wanted to help her. If he couldn’t hang out with his family this holiday season, at the very least, he could help someone else. And given their current predicament, maybe God had plopped Bronte right in front of him with a “Help her” sign flashing over her head.
“What do you need from me? How can I help you make sure you get your words written?”
Bronte stared blankly at him. “You can’t help me write my book.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t want me to help you write your book, but I can…” Jonah looked around the kitchen for inspiration. “Keep you fed so you don’t have to worry about eating burnt food. I can make sure you always have a hot cup of tea whenever you need it. And I may not be a writer, but I am a reader. If you need to brainstorm ideas, I’ll give you a listening ear.”
Bronte considered him with a raised eyebrow. “Just one ear?”
“Both,” Jonah amended. “You can have both, if you need them, and if they will help.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Well, first off, I can’t go anywhere, so you lucked out there. Secondly, why wouldn’t I want to help a new friend?” Besides, it’d help him keep his mind off his sister’s words and why he’d come home anyway. Maybe Bronte needed him more right now. True, she was little more than a stranger, but who was Jonah if he didn’t help the downtrodden? And something about Bronte struck him as the definition of downtrodden.
Bronte’s eyes snapped up. “Just until the weather clears though.”
Jonah shrugged.Maybe. Maybe not. “Sure. It’ll be a couple more days at least.”
Her storm-colored eyes narrowed, moving back and forth on his. Thinking. Considering. What was going through her mind?
“And,” Jonah added, whipping out his cell phone, “I’m ordering the rest of the series to read, so if you do need help brainstorming, I know the characters and plot line and can help you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Bronte protested.
“Already done.” Jonah flashed a smile.
Bronte chewed on her bottom lip. He wanted to take all her worry and apprehension onto himself, to unburden her.
“Okay, well…thank you.” Bronte swiveled back and forth on the barstool. “I should probably get back to work.”
“Me too.” Jonah held up his phone. “I have a book to read.”
Bronte rolled her eyes. “You enjoy that.”
“I plan to. I very much plan to.”
