Page 27 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
Bronte tugged her hoodie over her head and pulled the strings so that only her eyes peeked out. “I’m sorry, but also, I’m not sorry.”
“I’m just going to have to take it upon myself, for the sake of your readersandfor the sake of your characters, to change your mind before you get to the end.”
“Ha!” Bronte pushed her hood off her head and slurped the last of her tea from her cup. The lingering scent of cardamom and vanilla warmed her bones as her lips tugged into a smile when Jonah moved to the stove to fill the teakettle with water for another cup.
“Bronte Doesn’t-Believe-in-Happy-Endings Parker,” Jonah declared, wielding the kettle up like a sword, “I challenge you to write a happy ending.”
Bronte wasn’t sure if she was supposed to giggle, bow, or respond with a salute. In the end, she shook her head. “I wish it worked that way.”
“It could work that way.” Putting the kettle on the stove, Jonah moved to the cabinet, pulling down a bowl, flour, and sugar and setting them on the counter before moving to the fridge, humming yet another Christmas song.
“But it doesn’t work that way.” She needed Jonah to hear this. Needed him to understand. Why was beyond her, but if Jonah was making it his mission to make her believe in happy endings, then she would make it her mission to get him to see that happy endings were just the stuff of fairy tales. And she did not write fairy tales. “Life isn’t all sunshine and roses. Most of the time it’s thorns and disappointment. Can’t you see that?” All she could see of Jonah was his very nice backside sticking out of the fridge. “Jonah? Are you even listening to me? What are you doing?”
“Got it!” Jonah appeared from behind the fridge door, wielding a stick of butter. “I knew my sister had to have a stick in there somewhere.”
She threw her hands up with a groan. Here she was pouring her heart out—well, as much heart pouring as she did these days—and he was focused on butter? Her point exactly. If this had been the movies…Never mind if this had been the movies, because what happened in movies wasn’t real. They were the epitome of fairy tales. At least the rom-com, happy movies Lexi forced her to watch. That was why she preferred action movies. Still just as unbelievable, but at least the entire thing was unbelievable. Who ever heard of superheroes saving New York City from aliens from another dimension?
“I understand everything you’re saying, I just don’t believe it.” Jonah put the butter down on the counter and faced Bronte. “And I don’t think you think you know how to write it. You’re scared.”
Heat bloomed in Bronte’s face at the same time as rage filled her middle. Who was Jonah to tell her what she knew how to do? What she was scared of? Never mind that part of her warred over whether he was right. “What?”
“I think you think that even if you wanted to, you don’t know how to write a happy ending where the girl gets her guy.” Jonah leaned over on the counter, making sure to look Bronte straight in the eyes. She blinked, not sure if she wanted a stare down with Jonah. His sea-blue eyes had tiny flecks of midnight that made them magnetic. “Happy endings, where the guy gets the girl, scare you. So instead of figuring it out, you just avoid it.”
She blinked, trying to break the hold he had on her, but it wasn’t working. Once upon a time she had thought about making the series a happy one, but then she’d remembered everything that had happened in her life, and it’d just seemed to not make sense. And ten months ago, Brad had ripped any remaining dreams of happily ever after from her mind. “Theodosia and Josh can never end up together. There’s too much messy between them.”
“But that’s just it. Real-life romance isn’t always happy and roses. Sometimes it gets messy, and the real romance is that they stick together and work it out. That’s what makes a truly great romance.”
“What would you know about it? You grew up with the picture-perfect family, parents who obviously loved each other and you, and siblings you actually talk to. You’ve probably never overheard an argument in your life, and you’ve probably never had a broken heart either.”
“I’ve had my heart broken, Bronte.” Jonah stilled, blinking at her. Then he looked away, swallowing hard. “Just because I don’t always show it, that doesn’t mean I haven’t known loss.” His gaze reconnected with hers, and there was sadness mixed with something else there.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Jonah’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I had someone. Once. But she decided she didn’t want a family or to be married to a military man, and she wasn’t willing to wait until I got out.”
She could taste the guilt in the back of her throat. “Oh.”
His face softened. “But I’ve also known hope. And it’s a gift. One I wish you knew. One I wish you’d give your readers.”
A flame flickered inside her. “I’ll do it.”
Wait. What had she just said?
That wasn’t supposed to have come out of her mouth. She needed to stick to her guns. She couldn’t write a happy ending, and this late in the game, the deadline wouldn’t allow any room for mistakes. This was insane. She was insane. What was Jonah doing to her?
Jonah slapped the counter and pumped the air. “Yes! You are going to kill it.”
“You just said that you don’t think I can do it.” Bronte pushed off her stool and walked around the island to pour hot water into her mug. Jonah had his back to her, putting something into the bowl he’d gotten down earlier.
“No, my dear Bronte, I said I don’t thinkyouthink you can do it.” He bopped her nose. His hands were covered in flour. Bronte was sure she resembled Rudolph after he’d been playing in the snow. “I, on the other hand, know for sure you can do it.”
She reached up to rub her nose. Sure enough, her sleeve came away with a smudge of flour on it. “What makes you so sure?” She brushed at the spot on her sweatshirt. “You just met me three days ago. You don’t know anything about me.”
Jonah picked up the bowl as he was mixing, then turned to the island. “I’m a good judge of character.” He plopped the stick of butter in a glass bowl and slipped it into the microwave.
“A good judge of—Would you stop moving around? What are you doing?” He was making her nervous.
Jonah peered over his shoulder, his cocky grin firmly in place. “I’m making you something sweet to see if we can’t help with that sour.”
