by Janice Lynn
Their aunt had always given the best gifts, and the diaries had been Sophie’s favorites. Each year, she’d wondered what butterfly design would be on the cover, what handwritten note her aunt would have penned about emerging from her cocoon and spreading her wings to fly. Her aunt’s whimsies had always appealed to the dreamer in Sophie.
She’d kept a diary since receiving her first one on her tenth birthday. She had little bits of herself, her dreams and hopes, scattered over the pages, carefully tucked away in her nightstand, that she’d written for more than a decade. She’d agonize if she lost any one of them. She’d thought Cole would feel the same.
She’d been wrong.
“Yeah. I used Aunt Claudia’s diaries,” Isabelle agreed drily. “But my entries were more along the lines of ‘I can’t believe she got me another one of these books when I really wanted new clothes.’”
As Sophie recalled, her practical sister had mainly used the diaries to make lists. Lists of the things she’d done that day and lists of her goals for the following day, goals for the future.
She and Isabelle were as opposite as night and day. Maybe that was why they were so close.
“Say what you will, but I love that Aunt Claudia always gave us diaries. Someday, that’s what I’m going to give your kids as gifts, too,” she teased, loving how her sister’s face contorted in mock horror. “Only, I’ll search out ones with dragonflies on them and come up with cool little sayings to write on the inside covers for my nieces and nephews.” At Isabelle’s “don’t you dare” look, Sophie fought giggling and added, “Yep, dragonflies, year after year, with notes about how cool their Aunt Sophie is.”
“Dragonflies? Ha,” Isabelle snorted and tossing a piece of plastic packaging toward Sophie. “Well, at least my hypothetical kids will be spared that for as long as they stay hypothetical—which will probably be forever. I’ll die an old maid living in this town.”
“That’s not likely to happen,” Sophie corrected, frowning at her sister’s comment. Did Isabelle regret having moved back to Pine Hill? Did she miss her accounting job in Nashville? She never said so, but sometimes Sophie did wonder. “You’re beautiful and smart. Any guy would be lucky to have you. You just have to learn to say yes to a few of your constant stream of date offers.”
Isabelle wrinkled her nose. “Have you met the guys who’ve asked me out? Thanks, but no thanks. I’m fine staying single and never having children, especially in light of your Aunt Sophie gift threats.”
The doorbell chimed, indicating they had a customer. Giving her sister one last look, because she would really have liked to question her further, Sophie stopped unpacking fabric to go help the newcomer.
Somehow, she even managed to put Cole Aaron out of her head…until a bolt of Christmas fabric with Santa Claus on it caught her eye.
Living right off Pine Hill’s town square had its advantages. For one, Sophie could walk to church and work.
Most days, weather permitting, that was what she did. She spent long hours sitting at a sewing machine and when she was done, she liked to make the most of the fresh air and the chance to stretch her legs.
Sophie had stayed late at The Threaded Needle to use the shop’s longarm quilting machine to stitch a queen-sized Double Wedding Ring pattern Odessa Adams had topped as a Christmas gift for her newlywed granddaughter. The sun had long set by the time Sophie locked up the shop and headed home, but the well-lit streets warded off the darkness.
She made her way up festively lit Main Street with its snow-frosted garlands, each with a bright red ribbon, wrapped around every lamppost. Breathing in a deep breath of crisp night air, Sophie swung her bag over her shoulder.
Despite her pleasure in being outside, enjoying the peaceful setting and the refreshingly brisk breeze, Cole’s journal weighed heavily in her bag, just as her heart weighed heavy with his rejection.
If only—
A yellow, furry streak ran in front of Sophie, stopping her in her tracks as she stared down the now-empty street, wondering where the half-grown cat had disappeared.
Speaking of rejections…
“Here, kitty, kitty.” She knelt and called in the direction the cat had gone, but to no avail as the cat stayed in the shadows.
“You know,” she told the elusive cat, “I’ve been leaving food for you for over a week. Although I’ve seen you peeping in my shop window from time to time, I’d like a closer look. A thank-you meow or two would be nice, too.”
The cat had been hanging around the square and surrounding neighborhood for the past several days, but, as tonight, had been too skittish to do more than watch Sophie from a safe distance. Knowing the poor thing had to be hungry, Sophie put a small bowl of food on her front porch each evening and left an old throw out for the kitty to snuggle up in during the cold winter nights.
“Someday, you’re going to realize that I’m not so bad, and then you’ll want to be my friend,” she told the unseen cat as she stood back up and started walking towards her house again.
Would Cole Aaron ever realize the same thing?
The Twenty-Second Annual Pine Hill Christmas Toy Drive was just starting to get underway.
This was Cole’s first holiday season in Pine Hill, but from the time he’d moved here, he’d learned this town meant business when it came to holidays. And it seemed that the Christmas season was the be-all end-all. For Cole, it was just another day, but even he wasn’t so jaded that he didn’t recall the excitement of Christmas morning as a kid.
Kids needed toys.
When Chief said the fire department was taking on an active role in collecting toys for kids, Cole had signed on to help however he could. He had no wife, kids, or significant other to require his time during the holidays like some of the crew, so he volunteered for whatever came up. No one would miss him if he spent more hours away from home. It made sense that he’d volunteer so others wouldn’t need to.
Assuaging his ever-present guilt was how he found himself sitting in the church community room with about twenty other people, mostly ignoring what was being said.
He spotted Sophie sitting near the front of the room. Her table’s occupants were an odd-looking mix, from Sophie’s sunny presence, to Chief towering over the others, to an almost regal woman in her seventies who looked vaguely familiar, to a cyan blue-haired punk granny with glaringly bold lipstick. Apparently not content with letting her bright colors do the talking for her, she also waved her hands frequently while whispering something to a brunette who appeared to be about the same age as Sophie. Whatever she was saying must have been entertaining—and possibly inappropriate, because the young woman kept suppressing her laughter and shaking her head. Andrew’s grandparents were there, too.
But the one he couldn’t take his eyes off of was Sophie. Sophie Grace Davis. Yep, he knew her full name…because the guys at the firehouse had teased him mercilessly about her appearance yesterday morning. Between that and his bit as Santa, they’d not let up with their Santa Cole jokes. Seriously, couldn’t his parents have named him something that didn’t sound the same as coal?
Hopefully, Ben and Andrew wouldn’t start in again when they spotted him watching Sophie. Because no, he didn’t want to take her for a ride in his sleigh, and no, she wasn’t getting him for Christmas.
Cole had no intentions of ever settling into a relationship. His friends knew that, although they weren’t clued in on his reasons why. As Andrew had also sworn allegiance to permanent bachelorhood, they’d become two peas in a pod, avoiding dates together and openly giving their buddy Ben a hard time as he sought out falling in love and starting a family rather than continuing in their bachelor life.
But lately the teasing had turned to him as his friends seemed to consider it their duty to rag him as much as possible about why Sophie had stopped by the firehall looking for him. He hadn’t told them about the journal, or about his telling Sophie
he never wanted to see her again.
How many times had those words played through his head?
Too many to count, for sure. Just as visions of Sophie had played through his head too many times.
“Look who’s here.” Andrew gestured toward her table. “You need to say hi.”
If looks could kill, his buddy would need a graveyard plot.
“Hey, if you don’t want to talk to her, maybe I should,” Ben teased, waggling his brows.
Ben could join Andrew six feet under.
Cole didn’t need one of his buddies dating a woman who’d read that journal. He’d hoped his path wouldn’t cross Sophie’s again anytime soon. He should have known better.
He had known better. Pine Hill wasn’t that big.
“I asked her out once,” Ben admitted, frowning as he stared toward the table where Sophie sat. “In high school. I was a couple of grades ahead of her, but I liked her smile. She told me she was busy attending a sew-in, whatever that is.”
Andrew snorted.
Cole frowned. “A sew-in? As in sewing?” he couldn’t help but ask, ignoring how strangely pleased he felt that Sophie hadn’t gone out with Ben back then.
What did it matter whether or not Ben had dated her in high school?
Ben gave a self-derisive laugh. “Yep. A sew-in. I never asked again. I figured her saying she was sewing was akin to her saying she was washing her hair or some other thanks-but-no-thanks excuse.”
“Can you blame her? Who’d want to go out with your ugly mug?” Andrew ribbed Ben, to Cole’s relief. If they were needling each other, then neither one of them were giving him a hard time.
“If you think you’ll have better luck this time, go for it,” he told Ben, secretly hoping that wasn’t what his friend would choose to do.
His friend might be single, but it wasn’t because women didn’t want to be in Ben’s life. It was more that Ben dated women just long enough to decide whether or not they were “the one,” then moved on to the next woman to catch his interest.
“You’re not calling dibs?” Ben eyed him suspiciously.
“I keep telling you—there’s nothing there. I barely know her. She just found something of mine in one of the boxes we brought over to the church, and thought I’d donated it by accident. She tried to return it. It wasn’t something I wanted back. End of story.”
“Yet she wanted to talk to you in private?” Ben raised a brow.
“As private as it gets when standing just outside the firehall in plain sight of anyone who came by or looked out a window,” Cole pointed out, clearing his throat for emphasis on the window part.
“I think she just wanted an excuse to get away from you, Benny boy,” Andrew added with a grin.
Ben tossed a paper wad toward his friend, which Andrew deflected, sending it flying off in a different direction.
Cole glanced around the church community room floor, meaning to pick up the paper but he didn’t see where it landed. Just as he was about to get up to search for it, a woman tapped on a microphone.
The well-put-together seventyish woman from Sophie’s table had gone to the front podium, cleared her throat, and almost instantly silenced everyone. Even cyan-blue granny had quieted down.
Cole was impressed. He’d seen less effective drill sergeants.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here today to officially kick off the planning for this year’s Christmas toy drive. For any of those who may not know me”—she sounded as if she thought that an impossibility, the words a formality she needed to say all the same—“I’m Maybelle Kirby. I’ve headed up the toy drive since I co-founded it over twenty years ago.”
Again, impressive. Obviously, she was a pillar of the community.
Cole liked that about Pine Hill. There were people who’d lived there their entire lives, who’d devoted themselves to making it a better place. It still astonished him that this apple-pie-and-baseball-loving life existed in the world. No wonder his uncle had never moved away from his small farm just outside the town.
“Donations were down last year, probably due in part to the loss of our dear co-chair, Jean Hamilton. We miss her so much.” The woman’s gaze slid over to the brunette at the table before she gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. Cole took that to mean that the young woman had been a relative of the departed. “We barely had enough toys to meet our requests.”
Maybelle’s lips thinned, and she lifted her chin with a determination Cole admired, one that said she refused for any child in need to not receive a toy on her watch. No doubt they never would while she was in charge.
“The committee and I have been working to ensure this year’s drive is a smashing success,” she continued, glancing toward her table that must be the committee. Made sense, given that Chief was seated there.
No surprise Sophie was there, either. Ben had taken great pleasure in telling him about goody-two-shoes Sophie Davis and her volunteering at the church. No doubt she had more than a few gold stars in her crown.
“We appreciate each of you for being a part of this wonderful work.” Maybelle smiled at Chief. “We’re excited to announce that we’ve paired up with the fire department this year and will be using the firehall as an additional drop-off point for toys. Sophie, you and Sarah pass out the information sheets.”
Sophie and the brunette stood and began handing papers to each volunteer. Cole had hoped the brunette would make her way to their table, but it was Sophie who stopped there, pausing mid-sentence when her gaze met his.
“So glad—um, Cole, uh, yeah, hi.” She sounded as breathless as someone he’d just pulled from a burning building.
Seeing him flustered her. Because she’d read his journal, or because he’d been a jerk to her?
He hadn’t wanted to see her again. Still didn’t want to.
Only…
Knowing any show of friendliness would be exaggerated a hundredfold by his two friends, Cole barely acknowledged her as he took a flyer. As an added bonus, it meant he didn’t have to see the pity or disgust that he knew had to be reflected in her eyes.
How humiliating that she knew so many things about him—things he’d never wanted to share with anyone. Best thing he could do was let her go on thinking him a jerk. It would make her less likely to want to cross paths with him again.
He’d seen her, what, a handful of times since moving to Pine Hill? If each of them tried to avoid the other, maybe their paths would cross only rarely.
“Anyone not have a paper?” Maybelle asked when Sophie and the brunette returned to the front. When no one responded, she continued. “As I mentioned, we’re doing things differently this year. We’re breaking into three committees responsible for covering different needs.”
Breaking into groups? Cole had thought he and the guys would just pick up toys around town, put out a few collection boxes, wrap a few presents, and maybe deliver them to some kids.
“If you look at the top of the page, you’ll notice a number written on the stocking in the upper right-hand corner. That’s your committee number. Those with a number one are in my group, naturally. We’ll be handling media for the drive and getting word out via the local paper and online sources, as well as being a contact point for the kids involved.” She smiled at the crowd, then at the chief. “Chief Callahan, you’re in my group.”
Cole’s boss nodded at Maybelle. Cole couldn’t be sure, given the distance between them, but he’d swear Chief’s cheeks had gone pink.
Maybelle smiled at him, then moved on. “Groups Two and Three will be working together within the community. The group leaders have lists of businesses who made donations or collected toys last year. Each group is responsible for contacting all the businesses on their list. Charlie and Ruby Jenkin will lead one group.”
“Maybe we’ll be with your Grandma Ruby and she’ll feed us,” Cole leaned over and whi
spered to Andrew when the couple in their early seventies stood, holding hands as per usual, and smiled first at each other, then at the other volunteers. Andrew’s grandmother had welcomed Cole to her fold and invited him to all their family’s get-togethers since he’d come to town. He’d actually gone to a few, as well as the Fourth of July picnic. He still remembered the fancy dilled potatoes that were, according to Andrew, Grandma Ruby’s specialty.
“Theirs is group two.”
Cole glanced at the number three on the stocking in the upper corner of his paper and sighed. No edible perks for him.
“Group Three will be led by Sophie and Sarah.”
Naturally.
“Trade with me.” He reached for Andrew’s paper to snatch it out of his hands, but his friend evaded him.
“How come?” Andrew’s eyes twinkled. “You in somebody’s group who you want to avoid?”
Deciding to ignore Andrew, Cole focused on Ben.
“I’ve got a three,” Ben said, showing his paper, and chuckling. “You’ve got it all wrong, Andrew. Ole Cole’s trying to trade into someone’s group.”
Glaring at his friend, Cole held up his paper, displaying the three so Ben would know he was trying to avoid Sophie, not be forced to be in her company.
Seeing the pity in her eyes when she looked at him left him raw and uneasy. And even before he knew she’d read his journal, he’d been committed to giving Sophie a wide berth. He knew her by reputation and he had no doubt that, given the chance, Little Miss Do-Gooder would try to make him one of her many pet projects and attempt to fill his world with snowflakes, gingerbread houses, and Christmas cheer.
A green candy cane forcing him into being Santa was more than enough Christmas for Cole.
He turned back to Andrew. “Come on.”
At first Andrew shook his head, then, finally, taking on a more serious expression, he shrugged. “Okay. Fine. Since it’s important to you, I’ll trade. What are pals for?”
Relief flooded Cole.