Page 65 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
Bronte let out a strangled cry. This wasn’t working. She picked up her phone and turned it over to see if Jonah had tried to call or text her. Of course he hadn’t—he didn’t even have her number. He probably didn’t even realize she wasn’t at the ball anymore. She supposed this meant going to the midnight service in two hours was off. Not that she felt like going anywhere anymore. She couldn’t help but picture Jonah and Bree making up for lost time on the dance floor, reminiscing of times past and planning for the future. Bronte could already see half a dozen little dark-headed Jonahs and blonde Brees running around while they sat gazing longingly into each other’s eyes.
Why was she torturing herself by imagining sitting on the sidelines of life, watching Jonah’s love story unfold? She had only thought she’d protected her heart against the idea of something with Jonah. Well, try though she had, she hadn’t succeeded, and she’d be stuffed if she sat around while Jonah fawned over someone else.
Her heart, decidedly, wouldn’t be able to take it.
Minimizing her manuscript, Bronte opened a browser and found the first flight in the morning back home. Afterward, she shot a text off to Mia to see if Cody would be able to take her across the lake early in the morning—or maybe, if she hurried, she could catch a ride tonight with the rest of the tourists. If anyone asked, Bronte would make something up about an emergency back home. The emergency being her heart was breaking and she needed to get this novel done in twelve days.
That settled, Bronte went back to her novel. Which currently resembled a dumpster fire. How was she going to finish this and make it presentable in twelve days?Twelve days. There was a reason she didn’t focus on the length of her deadlines, and this crushing feeling of panic settling on her like a wet blanket was it.
Sucking in a deep breath and pushing away all thoughts of the looming deadline, Bronte put her fingers on the keyboard, closed her eyes, and started typing.
The front door slammed, and her eyes flew open.
“Bronte?” Her heart clenched at the panic lacing Jonah’s voice.
Choosing to ignore him, Bronte went back to typing, wishing she had her earbuds in so that she’d have an extra layer of “not being able to hear Jonah.” He’d probably raced home to tell her the amazing story of how he and Bree were getting back together. She didn’t need to hear it. She was a writer. She knew how this story ended. She’d known as soon as she’d seen them on the dance floor.
But as soon as she thought it, she knew Jonah wouldn’t be that cruel.
Jonah barreled across the room, tossing his coat on the kitchen bar as he passed it on his way to her. He reached her, tugging her up into his arms. The chair she had been sitting in fell back with a clatter.
Curse her traitorous heart for squeezing and her spine for tingling at his touch. She didn’t allow her arms to snake around Jonah’s back and hold him close. It took everything in her power to keep them down at her sides as she waited for him to drop the bomb that would be his admission of love. For someone else.
“I am sososorry. That never should have happened.”
“Are you talking about you and me? Or that Bree is back in the picture now and you can’t help yourself? It’s fine Jonah. I’m not going to hold it against you. The heart wants what the heart wants.” She should know. It was just her heart that couldn’t have what it wanted.
Pulling back, Jonah placed his hands on either side of Bronte’s face. She clenched her jaw to keep from reacting to the fire she felt at his touch. She wanted to melt into him. Scream and cry and just let him hold her, but she couldn’t.
Jonah leaned over, putting his forehead on Bronte’s. She slid her eyes closed to keep from staring into his eyes.
“I never kissed Bree. She tried, but I pushed her away. You didn’t see, but I pushed her away. I haven’t seen Bree in seven years, and she decided that now was when she needed to make nice. But I don’t want to make nice, Bronte. I feel nothing for Bree. She isn’t who I want. It’s you, Bronte. I like you a lot, and I think I might be falling for you.”
Bronte stilled. Ice had been poured through her veins. She opened her eyes and stared into Jonah’s intense gaze. “You can’t.”
“But I am.”
Bronte shook her head. “No. You can’t.” It came out a little more forcefully than she meant it.
Jonah pulled back, but he didn’t take his hands from her face. “Bronte, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
The words were choking her. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want them to come out. She wanted to ignore her own admission and just let Jonah love her, but she had to tell him the truth. She had to let him know that they would never be so he could change his mind about Bree. There was still a chance he could have all his dreams come true, but it wasn’t going to be with her. She felt like her insides were being ripped out. How could this hurt so bad after such a short time? She’d been with Brad for almost three years, and even his betrayal hadn’t felt like this.
God why does this hurt so bad? Why do I have to say goodbye?
“Tell me that you never want to live on this island or that it’s too soon or that you don’t feel this spark between us, but don’t tell me that you don’t feel something, Bronte. I have fallen so hard and so fast. I have never felt this undone by anyone in my entire life. You undo me.”
Bronte tried to suck in a breath, but instead, a choked sob escaped.
“Bronte, please tell me what’s happening. Let me in that beautiful brain of yours.”
“I can’t give you what you want, Jonah,” Bronte choked out, praying he wouldn’t press her further.
“I want you, Bronte. Only you.”
“I can’t have kids, Jonah.” The words found their way around the lump in her throat and were out before she could stop them. A hot tear rolled down her face, pooling where Jonah’s hand touched her skin.
“We don’t have to talk about starting a family right off if you don’t want. We can wait a few years.”
