by Janice Lynn
“Moved here earlier this year,” he admitted.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here and that we finally met.”
In another lifetime—if he hadn’t been warped, if there’d been no journal full of grim thoughts for her to have read, no grim life experiences to fill a journal with—he’d have been glad to meet her. Ecstatic.
Too bad they couldn’t really erase that they’d met or what she’d read.
Self-disgust filled him and he glanced around to see if Andrew and Ben were ready to leave yet. He needed to get out of the community room and away from Sophie and those sympathetic eyes of hers that he didn’t understand or like.
Knowing what he’d done, how could she even stand to be polite to him, much less act as if she wanted to be his friend?
Chapter Four
“That fireman doesn’t seem your type.”
At Maybelle’s comment, Sophie paused from straightening up the church community room to gawk at the older woman.
They were wiping down tables and running a sweeper over the floor to leave the area clean and ready for its next use.
“You’ve lost your eyesight in your old age,” Rosie accused Maybelle. “That hunky man is every woman’s type.”
“I never said Cole was my type,” Sophie told Maybelle. When Rosie opened her mouth to protest, Sophie held her hand up. “Just because you and Sarah are playing matchmaker doesn’t mean I approve.”
Carrie, who’d joined them in their cleaning, raised her head. She was Sophie’s fellow church member, friend, and more recently, business associate, since her pet store was selling Sophie’s handmade pet bandanas. “You’re interested in Cole Aaron? The grumpy firefighter in your group?”
“He’s not grumpy,” Sophie defended, even though she knew she was at the risk of adding fuel to the gossiping fire. At least, he hadn’t been grumpy until he’d realized she had read his journal.
“He’s just, well…” She pushed a chair back beneath a table and tried not to let too much show. “He’s more the strong, silent type. That’s all. Besides, he’s been through a lot.”
Sophie glanced toward Sarah for help. If anyone should understand what Cole had been through, Sarah should. Although her fiancé now worked for the sheriff’s department, in addition to acting as Sarah’s handyman at her bed and breakfast, Hamilton House, Bodie had endured some rough times during his own military career. Sophie didn’t know the details, but Bodie’s emotional recovery had taken much longer than his physical one from an explosion where he’d been the sole survivor.
As she had hoped, Sarah joined them where her friends now circled Sophie.
Sarah gave an empathetic nod and patted Sophie’s back. “Sophie’s right. Our brave military sacrifice a lot.”
She’d known she could count on Sarah.
“I’m sure Carrie didn’t mean any disrespect to Cole or his service,” Sarah continued. “But I have to agree with Maybelle. Watching you with Cole surprised me, too. He’s nothing like any of the guys you’ve gone out with over the years. He’s cute, though.”
There Sarah went with the “cute.” What was up with everyone calling Cole cute? He was so much more.
Besides, in and of itself, that Cole wasn’t like any of the other guys she’d dated wasn’t a bad thing. Obviously, none of them had been all that amazing, which was why, for one reason or another, she wasn’t with any of them now.
“I’m not interested in Cole,” Sophie insisted. Then, realizing no one was buying her quick retort, she added, “Not like any of you are implying or trying to set up. I don’t want to date him.” She didn’t. “Nor does he want to date me.” That was the understatement of the year. “But I do feel badly for him after all he went through when he was deployed. He’s still new to Pine Hill and it can’t be easy making a life for himself here.” She shrugged. “I wish I could make things better for him.”
Which was the absolute truth. Her heart broke for the things he’d suffered during his time in Special Ops and wished she could take away his inner turmoil.
Just like Dad.
Sophie gulped back the thought.
Sarah’s brow rose. “Did he tell you something about his past or do you know about it because of what you read in his journal?”
“What journal?” Carrie asked as she bent to pick up a stray piece of wadded-up paper off the floor.
Sarah glanced over the room to make sure they’d restored it to pre-meeting cleanliness, then said, “Sophie found Cole’s journal in a box of donated books when we were getting ready for the church rummage sale. She returned it to him.”
Sophie started to tell her friends that Cole had refused to take the journal, but then decided to continue to keep that to herself and hope her sister did the same.
If she told them, they’d be more curious about what he’d written, might even ask to read it, and she had no intentions of telling anyone the things she’d read or of sharing the book.
“He’s easy on the eyes, but not much of a talker,” Carrie mused, putting her hand on the back of a chair. “Jeff volunteered with a group of kids to wash the firetrucks for a community project over the summer.” Jeff was her teenaged son. “I was one of the parent volunteers, and I remember noticing how quiet Cole was. Polite, but quiet. Is he more expressive as a writer?”
Not meeting her friend’s eyes, Sophie shrugged. Cole’s story wasn’t hers to tell, and he obviously didn’t want anyone to know about it, including Sophie.
“I’d like to make him a quilt for him,” she said to distract them, knowing bringing up their shared passion should do the trick. Carrie wasn’t a quilter, or even a seamstress, which was why she had Sophie making the bandanas to sell at her pet store. That didn’t keep Carrie from volunteering with them during sew-ins to help in other ways, though.
An avid quilter, Sarah’s face shone with excitement. “Oh, that would be wonderful. We could…”
Sophie shook her head. “You, my friend, have a wedding to plan. Christmas Day is barely over a month away and will be here before you know it.”
Sarah had chosen to become Bodie’s wife on her favorite day of the year, which Sophie found perfect for the couple as their romance had started during the Christmas season a year ago.
“So,” Sophie continued, “‘we’ won’t be doing anything.”
Happily in love, Sarah laughed. “Okay, you’re right, but I do think it’s a wonderful idea to award a Quilt of Valor to Cole.”
“Me, too.” After reading his journal, she couldn’t imagine anyone more deserving or in need of one. “I’d like to make him a quilt myself.”
Everyone in the room’s eyes bore into Sophie and she fought to keep her expression casual.
“Because you feel badly for what he went through?” Carrie asked.
Sophie bit the inside of her lower lip, then nodded. “Yes. If ever a Marine needed to be wrapped in a quilt of healing, Cole Aaron does, and I want to be the one to make his quilt.”
“Well, you know what happened when I made Bodie’s quilt,” Sarah reminded with a smile.
Sophie fought bursting out laughing at Sarah’s insinuation. Bodie had come to Pine Hill to say thank you to his quiltmaker and he’d ended up falling in love with Sarah.
Forget coming to town to thank her—Cole seemed more likely to leave town to avoid her. Sophie could wrap Cole in a dozen quilts, and she doubted he’d forgive her reading his journal, much less feel gratitude and love toward her.
She’d never made a quilt with the expectation of receiving either of those. She made them because of the gratitude she felt, the love she felt, toward the military who gave and sacrificed so much for their fellow countrymen.
She made each and every quilt for her father.
She would make Cole a red, white, and blue quilt and maybe, since she might never be able to say the words, doing so would let him kn
ow he was appreciated.
Dreading the next couple of hours, Cole parked his SUV in the only vacant parking spot in front of Sophie’s quilt shop.
The store was located in a row of similar buildings that ran the length of one side of the town square. Its antique brick exterior had been painted a country blue trimmed with white, giving it a unique look. The quilt shop’s windows shone with a colorful display of red, green, and gold fabrics and a Christmas quilt was displayed over a rocking chair with a message about being thankful. The tan awning above the entrance was pristine.
Garlands festooned with lights wrapped around the windows and door and a big wreath hung on the door, matching several other businesses around the square. A bench sat out front and someone had tied big red bows on each end. Old fashioned lamp posts lined the street and were heavily decorated with snow flocked garland and ribbons of their own.
The whole place looked like something from a magazine article about small towns or like it belonged on a Christmas postcard where someone jotted a happy note about days gone by. Warm, inviting, nostalgic, festive.
A sign with a large needle with a thread looped through it was painted onto Sophie’s shop’s window front. The Threaded Needle.
Catchy. Had Sophie chosen the name or had the shop been around longer than she had? Despite its spotless refurbishing, it appeared as if it could have been a cornerstone of the square since the town had been established in the eighteen-hundreds.
A quilt shop.
Perhaps her excuse to Ben of being busy sewing made more sense than Cole first thought.
Thinking of his friends made him grimace. They’d not let up on the Sophie jokes since they’d bumped into her at the toy drive meeting on Tuesday evening. No, before that. They’d been at it since her firehall visit. Which was why he’d offered to meet Sophie at her workplace rather than his when she’d wanted to immediately start crossing off businesses on their list during her lunch break.
He worked twenty-four on, forty-eight off most of the time, so meeting her hadn’t been a problem. He didn’t have to be back at the station until the following morning.
Climbing out of his SUV, he glanced around, a cool breeze whipping at the flannel shirt he’d thrown over his T-shirt before heading out. He’d driven through the square many times, had frequented the local pawnshop located on one side for used farm equipment, had even helped put out a fire in an upstairs apartment above one of the businesses, but he paused to take in the stately courthouse that was the center of Pine Hill as he always did.
Automatically standing a little taller, full of pride, he lifted his gaze to the flag that flew high and majestic at the top of a pole out front, seeming to stand guard above the small town.
God Bless America was printed on a large wooden sign on the courthouse yard, surrounded by miniature wreaths with flags in recognition of local heroes, past and present, that had been placed as part of a Veterans Day service the previous week. Cole had intentionally stayed in the background, but had otherwise proudly attended that ceremony, paying his respects to his comrades, his flag, and his country.
Even if he’d never really thought he could belong anywhere, he’d come closer than he’d believed possible in this friendly little town.
He’d been right to stay rather than immediately sell his uncle’s place, as he’d initially considered. The farm was where he was meant to be. On his off-work days, he was slowly updating his late uncle’s house. He figured if he did decide to sell, to move on someday, the repairs and modernization would speed things along.
He hadn’t gotten anything done that morning, though, as he’d been too preoccupied with thoughts of Sophie and trying to figure out how best to make the Santa suit fit him.
A chime went off as he walked into a pine-and-cinnamon scented, color-coordinated world of fabric, accessories, and various knickknacks. Several sewing machine displays stood on one side of the shop. Other sections featured stylishly decorated shelves packed with various how-to projects. To his right were a pastel section with various baby quilts and even a patriotic section with a few red, white, and blue quilts that were perhaps leftover from celebrating Veteran’s Day. One area boasted Christmas fabrics and hand-crafted Christmas items. Although it was still November, he supposed one had to plan ahead when making homemade items for the holidays.
Cole could sew on a button or hem a pair of dress blues. Otherwise, he knew nothing about sewing or quilting, as proven by the mess he’d made that morning attempting to rip out the hem on the Santa pants. But even his untrained eyes recognized the aesthetic appeal of the well-stocked and well-organized shop. No doubt just stepping through the doors made crafters’ pocketbooks empty themselves.
Christmas music played in the background and he could hear Sophie singing along to the upbeat tune about rocking around a tree, though she wasn’t in sight.
“Good morning,” she called from somewhere behind a display shelf to his left.
Hearing her voice kicked his pulse up several notches. He paused, sternly reminding himself that all they had to do was go drop off toy collection boxes and pick up a few checks. It was just another mission, one where he’d keep his eyes on the objective. He’d get through this and be done with Sophie once and for all.
Or at least until the next time they bumped into each other.
“Feel free to look around. Our remaining Thanksgiving material is on clearance and we’ve got some pre-Christmas specials going,” she called, obviously unaware of who exactly had entered her shop. “I’ll be with you in a few, but if you need me before I get there, just holler.”
Cole wouldn’t be needing her or any of her holiday specials. What he needed was to get this over with so he could get back out to the farmhouse before someone made him hand over his man card. He headed in the direction her voice had come from, rounded a display and paused.
Wearing jeans and another red Christmas sweater, this one with three presents on the front, a slightly-swaying-to-the-music Sophie leaned over a second cutting table and ran a rotary tool along a straight edge, making a perfect slice along the fabric. She moved the straight edge, double checked the width of the material the cut would create, then made another swift swipe of the sharp-bladed tool.
“You sure you’re licensed to wield that thing and dance at the same time?” he heard himself ask, instantly regretting the teasing note in his tone. He needed to keep their interactions simple, minimal, and completely professional.
“Oh!” She jumped at his voice, turning toward him as she did so. “Cole! You startled me.”
“No kidding.”
Uncertainty shone in her hazel eyes as her lips curved in a tentative smile. No doubt she wondered if he was friend or foe.
He was neither, but for the duration of the toy drive, they were stuck together.
Sill looking a little flustered, she glanced at her watch, then up at him. “You’re early.”
By ten minutes. He arched a brow. “Should I have waited outside?”
“Oh, no, definitely not. I…just, um, let me finish these strips, if that’s okay? I’m almost done. I’ll run them through the cutting machine later this afternoon.”
“Cutting machine?”
She gestured to a table set up to one side of the open work area. “We sell packages of precut shapes like flowers, stars, leaves—that kind of thing. During down time, I put quilt and table-runner kits together.”
He supposed a small-town specialty shop would need to find creative ways to stay in the black and be competitive with chain stores.
“Quilters don’t want to cut their own material?”
“Some do.” Her tone said she couldn’t imagine why. “But cutting material can be tedious work, so our precut packages sell well. Plus, our dies cut precise shapes and patterns. A buyer doesn’t have to worry about mis-cut pieces throwing off the pattern and things not lining up properly. Prec
ision cutting is everything in quilting.” Pausing her activity, she glanced his way. The earlier uncertainty from her gaze was gone, replaced by an excitement for her subject. Her face practically glowed as she added, “For the quilt kits, I color-coordinate everything, package the precut pieces with step-by-step directions, and include everything to make the quilt top. A customer has the option to include material for the back of the quilt, batting and thread. They can opt out if they already have their own, or want to choose something different, but for those who want a full kit, we make it easy by putting it all together.”
She barely took a breath the whole time she talked.
“Seems to me,” he began, “that if someone was going to buy all that done by someone else, they’d just buy a premade quilt and save themselves even more time.”
Sophie gave him a horrified look. “Why would they do that?”
Cole eyed her at her total bewilderment. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because quilting is fun, brings people together, and is a useful work of art,” she defended, her hands going to her hips.
“Artwork even when everything is precut?”
“A painter may purchase paint in various shades rather than mixing his own, but that doesn’t make him any less the artist when he puts all those premixed colors on a canvas.”
Not quite sure he followed her explanation, Cole just shrugged. “If you say so. Cut your strips so we can get to our toy drive business.”
She glanced back at the bolt of fabric she’d been working with. “In a hurry to get started?”
“In a hurry to get finished,” he corrected, looking at his watch.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.” Her gaze flickered to him and she flashed one of her full-dimpled smiles. “We have that friendly competition to win.”
Cole shouldn’t have tossed out the challenge to his friends but at least it had diverted them from their matchmaking teasing—for the moment, anyway.
“Finish your strips,” he repeated. “I’ll wait outside.”
Giving him one last curious look, she nodded and went back to cutting her material.
