Page 33 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
Which she found completely empty.
Bronte frowned. Where was Jonah? He was here, because she’d heard him banging around not ten minutes before. Maybe he’d gone back upstairs and was taking a nap? But she hadn’t heard him come back up the stairs. Had she?
Whatever. She didn’t care what Jonah was doing. She’d come downstairs to write at the kitchen table. For a change of scenery. That’s it.
Setting herself up on the kitchen table, Bronte opened her laptop and stared at the last words she had written on the Pike manuscript. Garbage. Where had she even been going with that sentence? She hit backspace, wishing she could backspace until the entire document was erased. Not thatthatwould help her situation at all.
Bronte hovered the mouse over the new story idea. Maybe she could use this as a warm-up. Hadn’t Jonah said working on a different project for a little bit worked for him? Yes, she’d let herself write for fifteen minutes on this story, and then she’d get back to work on the one that was under deadline.
Determined, Bronte cracked her knuckles like an old noir writer, tapped out a beat on the kitchen table, and started writing.
“Whoa, looks like someone got her mojo back.”
Bronte started at the sound of Jonah’s voice and slammed her laptop shut, as if caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’m not doing anything.” She leaned an elbow on her laptop and turned to face Jonah.
Dressed head to toe in big, fluffy,veryblue snow gear, Jonah waddled into the kitchen. “Right. What are you working on?”
“I may or may not be writing a rom-com.” Bronte shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever.”
“Hey, that’s great.”
“You look like you got in a fight with the Cookie Monster and lost. Or maybe the Cookie Monster lost and you’re now wearing him.” Bronte gasped. “Did you do something with the Cookie Monster?”
Shuffling over to the table, Jonah plopped down in a chair next to her. “What if I am the Cookie Monster, and Jonah is just my disguise?”
Bronte considered him for a minute. “I think that sounds even more terrifying. So, what’s all this?” She waved a hand in his direction.
“Snow gear. I thought we could go for a midday stroll into town and maybe get some lunch at Martha’s.” Jonah leaned over, trying to tug on a second pair of socks. Bronte bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Wouldn’t it have been smarter to put the socks onbeforeyou looked like the Michelin Man rolled in blue paint?”
“Har har. Of course, but I decided at the last minute that I needed a second pair, ergo, I’m the blue Michelin Man putting on socks.”
Bronte watched him for another painful thirty seconds. “Do you need some help there, G.I. Joe?”
With a heaving sigh, Jonah melted back into the chair and tossed the socks on the table. “I’ve just decided that I’m not wearing a second pair.” He pointed down at the pair he currently wore. “These are wool and should be just fine. We’ll find out for sure if I have to ask you to amputate a toe or two tonight.”
The blood rushed from Bronte’s face. “I’m not doing that.” She threw the socks back at him. “Put them on.”
“I’m just kidding. I’m not going to lose any toes,” Jonah teased. “I don’t think. Anyway. You want to go with me?”
“Sorry, I didn’t bring any gear with me.” Not that she would have, even if she’d known they would be getting this much snow. Because she was here to write a book. WRITE A BOOK. Not go tramping in the snow with a beautiful man.
“Lucky for you”—Jonah reached out and bopped Bronte on the nose—“Holland is just about your size and has all the gear you need.”
“Seriously?” Bronte felt like Jonah had just handed her a Christmas present all her own.
“Seriously. I mean”—Jonah looked her up and down, and dang it if she didn’t feel her face flush under his gaze—“it’s pink, not black. Think that’d be okay?”
“If it means getting out of here for a little bit, it’s perfectly fine.” Bronte hadn’t realized how much it felt like she had cabin fever. Maybe that’s why she was having a hard time with really getting going on the Pike family novel.
“I’d fire up the snowmobiles, but it looks like my sister might be having issues with hers. It’s on the trailer in the garage.”
Bronte remembered seeing it when they were getting Christmas boxes from the attic. “A walk will be good. I really need to work on the Pike novel, but I just can’t get started. When I’m at home and I have this problem, I generally go for a walk around the neighborhood.”
“Great. Gear is at the top of the stairs. I’ll meet you here in ten minutes, and we’ll get going.”
Bronte gave Jonah a curt nod and pushed away from the table. Abandoning her laptop, she all but ran up the stairs to where the bright-pink snow gear was waiting for her.
