Page 3 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
With well-wishes of Christmas, Bronte ended the call and dropped her phone into the pocket of her oversized black peacoat. Wind whipping at her hair, she curled her fingers tighter around the railing to keep them from doing something silly—like looking at her ex’s social media accounts. She didn’t need to see Brad and his fiancée. She had already swept Brad out of her mind.
But would one little peek really hurt? Once she arrived at the island, she’d put thoughts of her ex and his happiness out of her mind for good.
Ignoring the scenery she had been so looking forward to taking in, Bronte pulled her phone from her pocket and with laser focus, scrolled through the apps on her phone until she found the icon she was looking for. Fingers seemed to fly over the face of her phone as she typed Brad’s username from memory. The first image contained him and Marie, with Marie flashing one of the largest rings Bronte had ever seen.
“Look at that rock.”
Bronte startled, almost dropping her phone into the lake, as a girl in a camel-colored trench coat came to stand next to her. She was a bit shorter than Bronte, but then again, Bronte had always been called a giant. Five nine wasn’t that tall, but that hadn’t stopped boys in middle school from giving her the nickname. It wasn’t her fault she’d been head and shoulders taller than them at that age.
Of course, it was better than them teasing her for being a foster kid.
The girl’s blonde hair shone in the sun and was tucked perfectly into her scarf and layers. Blue eyes sparkled, and all of her features were a perfect kind of petite that Bronte had wished for her whole life. After traveling all day, Bronte had swiped the last of the mascara off her face in the airport bathroom and had to wrestle her untamed curls into a knot on top of her head—which she was pretty sure resembled a bird’s nest at this point.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The girl took a step back, eyes wide. “Aubrey Jennings.” She thrust her hand in Bronte’s direction.
Bronte clicked her phone off and dropped it back in her pocket, taking Aubrey’s offered hand. “Bronte. Parker. It’s fine. I didn’t need to scroll anyway.”
“Right.” The girl smiled and leaned against the railing next to Bronte. “Would you look at that?”
A large white building flanked in scaffolding loomed in the distance. Dirty snow glittered on the ground and covered a crane sitting quietly to the side. The Grand Hotel. Bronte remembered, after deciding to come to Jonathon Island, reading reports about the rebuilding of the hotel after it’d burned in a tragic accident years before. She wished she had been able to get a room at the hotel, but since they hadn’t opened it to the public yet, she’d been compelled to find other lodgings.
“I’m so glad to see they’re rebuilding the hotel. It’s going to be gorgeous when they get it done.” Taking a big breath, as if coming to the island was clearing her head, she turned to Bronte. “Is this your first time to the island?”
Putting her hands in her pockets, Bronte nodded. “You?”
“Oh, no. I grew up here. My grandmother still lives here.”
“Back for Christmas?”
Aubrey clicked her knee-high boots as if she were Dorothy inThe Wizard of Oz. Bronte half expected her to sighThere’s no place like home.“Yep. Staying until New Year’s.”
Her heart clenched. What would it be like to have family to visit for the holidays? A grandma waiting for her on the other side of this ride. Maybe with a steaming cup of tea and the world’s best snickerdoodle cookies. When she had deadlines looming, she could visit her grandma, who would insist on making sure she stayed fed while Bronte’s fingers flew over her keyboard, creating characters and entire worlds. A family didn’t have to be noisy and in the way. Did it?
“What brings you to Jonathon Island?”
Aubrey’s question snapped Bronte from her daydream. Probably for the best. She didn’t need to spiral down the what-if tunnel. She’d accepted that wasn’t a life she’d ever have a long time ago. “Just visiting. I rented a cottage out for the next few weeks.”I’m on deadline. I have a book to write, she finished silently. Five bestsellers in, and she still found it hard to tell people what she did for a living.
“You’re going to love it on Jonathon Island. The Christmas season is my favorite. There are so many fun activities planned. Oh, and this year, I’ve heard they’re bringing back the ball.”
“The ball?” She vaguely remembered reading something about a ball when booking her rental, but she hadn’t looked too much into it since she was here to write her book.
“Yeah, the Christmas ball. I remember going to the Christmas balls when I was a teenager, but then the hotel burned down, and there hasn’t been anything like that on the island in ages. I’m so excited they’re bringing it back.”
On any other trip, attending a ball might have been fun. “I’ve never been to anything even remotely resembling a ball. Unless line dancing counts? I’ve done that a few times.” Bronte made a face.
“Maybe not quite the same.” Aubrey laughed. “Oh, and I hope they have the lights up in the town. It’s so magical.”
That word—magical. It sobered Bronte right up. There was nothing magical about Christmas. Not for her.
Not for anyone who was alone.
Bronte just nodded and tucked her chin further under her black silk scarf. She hoped the lights weren’t up. Didn’t matter though. She’d be hunkered down in her cottage the whole time, writing.
They fell into silence, watching the waves go by in a quick clip.
“So, what is it you do?” Aubrey asked.
Bronte hated this question. It always made her feel self-conscious. She accepted having to talk about being a writer when she went on tour, almost to a point where she enjoyed it, but in her everyday life? Nope. Why hadn’t she become something simple? Like an accountant. “I’m a writer.”
