Wrapped Up in Christmas Joy

by Janice Lynn

  “Maybe she climbed another tree.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. “It’s probably just a wrong number.”

  Only, when he glanced down at his phone, it wasn’t.

  It was a funny turkey meme.

  Sent from Sophie.

  “You do realize wrong numbers don’t make you smile, right?” Andrew pointed out.

  Cole didn’t bother to hide his amusement since it was too late anyway. “This one did.”

  “You gonna share? I could use a laugh.”

  Cole touched his screen to keep the meme lit up and handed over his phone.

  Andrew snorted at the picture.

  “That’s a local number,” Ben pointed out, leaning over to get a closer look.

  “You were supposed to check out the joke, not see if you recognized the phone number.”

  “Just hit the redial button to find out who it is,” Ben suggested.

  “He doesn’t need to,” Andrew assured, glancing toward Cole with amusement filling his eyes. “He knows who it’s from.”

  “Maybe,” Cole admitted. He didn’t have any programmed numbers saved as contacts in his phone. There was no reason to. He knew all the numbers to the firehall, knew the chief’s number, and the crews’ numbers. He preferred using his mind, occupying his brain space with facts and figures rather than memories. It was one of the reasons he never wrote in the answers on his crossword puzzles. Having to keep up with a mental map of the answers and where they fell on the puzzle forced him to stay focused.

  Usually.

  Andrew handed over the now dark-screened phone. “You going to text her back?”

  Good question. Doing so shouldn’t feel like a big deal. He could just send a funny message of acknowledgement and be done with it.

  But texting back felt a very big deal. So much so that the thought of doing so made his blood feel as if it quivered through his veins. Cole slid the phone into his pocket.

  “How about that buttermilk pie?” he asked, standing up and tossing the book of puzzles aside. “The two platefuls of food I ate earlier have settled enough to enjoy dessert.”

  “I know what you’re doing, bro.” Andrew’s gaze narrowed as he set the controller down in his chair. “But I’m okay with it since it means cutting into that pie.”

  Which was exactly what Cole had hoped.

  Maybe the sugar rush would offset the urge to return Sophie’s text.

  Both were sweet.

  Why had she sent him the meme?

  Pity, kindness, or the something more that he felt sparking between them despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise?

  Black Friday came bright and early, and The Threaded Needle was going to have its best day of sales ever. Sophie and Isabelle arrived at the shop a full hour prior to opening to make sure they had everything ready.

  “Today is going to be great,” Sophie assured her sister, knowing Isabelle was always crunching numbers in her head.

  Isabelle nodded. “It will be. The window display looks wonderful, by the way. I’ve had a lot of people comment on it.”

  “Thank you.” Sophie beamed at her sister’s praise. “I’m hoping it gets a few more folks to sign up for my Make Your Own Stocking class.”

  “There’s only a couple of spots left after the Butterflies signed up.”

  “All of them?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  Sophie’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure what I can teach any of them. They’ve been sewing longer than I’ve been alive.”

  “They probably just want to show their support.”

  “Or are up to something.” Like more matchmaking. Knowing them, they’d probably signed Cole up, too. Subtlety was rarely their thing. Come to think of it, she could probably blame them for the fact that she’d never had any subtlety herself. After all, they’d had a formative influence on her while she was growing up.

  “Definitely a possibility,” Isabelle agreed. “No doubt Maybelle had something in mind when she signed them all up. I’m just glad it’s you who’ll be teaching the class.”

  “You’re welcome to help.”

  Maybelle was certainly a mover and a shaker, so if she’d been the one to sign the ladies up for the class then Sophie agreed that there was likely more to it than a simple interest in stocking sewing.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s all I can do to keep up with our online presence and sales, accounting, and taxes, not to mention all the other paperwork to keep day-to-day operations going.”

  Sophie glanced at her sister. They were just preparing to unlock the front door, but Isabelle already looked tired. Had she sat up working last night after they’d gotten back from Aunt Claudia’s?

  “Maybe we need to hire someone else full-time for out front so you can focus on the business side of things.” The back-office work was the part of the business that her sister loved, what she’d trained for with her business management degree.

  Isabelle opened her mouth and Sophie sensed the protests that were on their way. She held up her hand.

  “I know that the more we do ourselves, the more we have to pay toward the note, but other than church, you have no social life. I was so glad you went sledding Saturday evening. You need to do that kind of thing more often.”

  Isabelle’s brow lifted. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “My point exactly,” Sophie countered. “But I do get away from here more than you.”

  “Work isn’t restricted to what you do inside this building while the shop’s doors are open. You put in more than double the hours of a normal work week most weeks, coming in early and staying late.”

  “True, but many of those extra hours are spent sewing, which I love, so it’s not really like working,” Sophie reminded. “Although, if our Petdanas sales continue to increase, I’m going to have to make some decisions on how I spend my sewing time.”

  “You think you may cut back on your Quilts of Valor work?”

  Sophie shot her sister a horrified look. “Not as long as there’s breath in my body.”

  Isabelle paused in what she was doing and met Sophie’s gaze. “You do realize, don’t you, that no matter how many quilts you make, you can’t save Dad?”

  Sophie’s heart pinched at her sister’s question. Every quilt she’d made for veterans had been sewn for her father, to some degree. It was one of the reasons she often donated quilts to be awarded elsewhere, in hopes that somewhere, some daughter had wrapped her father in a quilt, and that he’d felt the love sewn into every stitch and found healing and comfort.

  Fortunately, Sophie was saved from responding to her sister’s unwelcome question by her cousin knocking on the front door.

  “Hey, Annabelle,” Sophie greeted their recruited extra help. Though the high school student was too busy with her own activities to work a regular schedule with them, Annabelle occasionally filled in on the weekends and when school was out, and she was a lifesaver when it came to help with Black Friday and Shop Local Saturday.

  Several hours later, Sophie rolled her shoulders, then leaned back over to measure the material yardage being purchased by Sue Harvey.

  “I can’t wait to make new pillows to go in the rockers by the fireplace. And then I’ll make a matching Christmas tree skirt,” the woman said.

  The Harveys owned a local farm where they specialized in Christmas trees, among other things to keep the farm hopping all year long. Sophie loved going out to the farm in the spring to pick strawberries, in the fall to select a pumpkin, and, of course, in the winter to choose a tree. The most beautiful Christmas trees she’d ever seen had all come from Harvey Farms. In every season, Mrs. Harvey ran a deli and gift shop combo in a converted barn where she served yummy homemade treats and sold local goods.

  “You should sign up for my stocking class on Tuesday night and mak
e matching stockings, too,” Sophie suggested while cutting the requested length.

  “Tuesday night?” Mrs. Harvey looked thoughtful. “I could probably sneak away from the deli long enough to make that work. Sue Ellen could cover for me.”

  “Ha. I was just about to say you should get Sue Ellen to come with you. Maybe we could get her to sewing yet,” Sophie laughed, thinking fondly of her former classmate. Sue Ellen had always been complimentary of Sophie’s sewing abilities but had seemed almost horrified at the suggestion of doing any herself.

  “Doubtful. She’d rather be out getting her hands dirty with her dad than anything else, but she covers for me in the deli when needed.”

  Sue Ellen had been that way back in school, too. If asked to name a real-life tomboy, Sue Ellen Harvey would be the first person to come to Sophie’s mind.

  “If you want to reserve a spot, just tell whoever checks you out, and they’ll save you a place.”

  Annabelle’s giggle from the cash register had both women glancing that way, spotting the girl deep in conversation with Jeff.

  Mrs. Harvey smiled at the young man at the counter.

  “Carrie sure has done a great job with that one. I had to pick up some heavier items from the feed store, so Mr. Harvey sent Jeff along with me to help with anything I needed.” Mrs. Harvey winked. “Little did either of them know, I planned to make a detour to hit a few of the local sales, too.”

  Sophie suspected Jeff and Mr. Harvey had known exactly what Mrs. Harvey was up to when she’d chosen Black Friday to pick up feed store supplies, but she kept that thought to herself.

  “It doesn’t look like Jeff minds this particular detour in the slightest,” Sophie mused, giving Mrs. Harvey a conspiratorial smile as they watched the two teenagers laugh at something Jeff was showing Annabelle on his phone.

  “I’d say not. Claudia’s granddaughter is a beauty. I don’t think anyone was the slightest bit surprised when she won Little Miss Pine Hill last year.” Mrs. Harvey sounded as proud as if Annabelle was her own granddaughter and as if she wasn’t talking about Sophie’s cousin.

  “She’s even more beautiful on the inside,” Sophie assured, folding the piece of fabric she’d just cut, then writing the amount on a piece of paper she stuck to the top. “We love her dearly.”

  “Will she be entering Miss Pine Hill this year?”

  Sophie nodded. “Her mother signed her up the day entries opened. I think they caught the pageant bug last year when Annabelle won and were glad she moved up an age category so they could compete again this year.”

  “She’s a shoo-in. I recall your Grandmother Belle was a beauty queen, too,” Mrs. Harvey mused. “No one in the county stood a chance if she entered a pageant. All you girls favor her to some degree, but Annabelle is her spitting image.”

  Sophie smiled. Her mother rarely spoke of Sophie’s grandmother’s pageant days, but Aunt Claudia loved to go on about them to her daughters, nieces, and grandchildren, which Sophie had always found strange. She’d have thought it would be exactly opposite as Darlene had grown up to love make-up and hairstyling while Aunt Claudia wore her naturally gray locks up in a tidy, no-nonsense bun. Sophie couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her aunt’s hair down or her mother not done up to a tee outside the privacy of home.

  “We all thought she’d go on to do great things, to travel the world and live the life of the rich and famous,” Mrs. Harvey continued.

  “From what Aunt Claudia says, Grandma Belle never regretted her life choices.” Although Sophie had wondered more than once if her grandmother’s decision to lead a quiet life had led to Claudia craving to see the world. Thank goodness she was finally getting to realize that dream.

  Mrs. Harvey smiled. “It’s no wonder. She loved your grandpa very much and always seemed so happy. It didn’t surprise anyone when they passed within six months of each other.”

  No. Even as a young girl, it hadn’t surprised Sophie, either. Her grandparents’ love for each other had been palpable and so unlike what she’d witnessed between her own parents. Sophie was thankful for them, because they’d given her an example to strive toward someday.

  When Cole popped into her mind, Sophie shoved him right back out and handed Mrs. Harvey’s material to her. Cole was not going to be part of any relationship that she should be striving toward. Not today. Not someday. Not any day.

  Only, he sure sent her pulse through the roof just at the thought of him.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked Mrs. Harvey.

  Taking the fabric, the woman shook her head. “This is all I need, but, Lord willing, I’ll be back for that class. You’re right that matching stockings hanging from the mantle at the gift shop would look amazing.”

  The day passed quickly. Thank goodness they’d had both their part-time helpers and Annabelle there to assist customers. She and Isabelle were both exhausted by the time they’d locked the front doors, but it had been a great day.

  While Isabelle worked in the office, Sophie straightened out all the disorder in front, restocking items for the following day’s “buy local” sale, then sitting at one of the machines to make a couple dozen Petdanas as Carrie had texted to say she’d sold out again.

  Late that night, in the privacy of her bedroom, Sophie sat on her bed, leaned back against the headboard, a light-hearted Christmas movie playing on her favorite television station, while she worked on her quilt.

  “Meow.”

  Sophie glanced over at her bedroom window.

  “Seriously?” she said to the cat sitting on the ledge and staring in at her. “Did you come to thank me for the yummy cat nibbles from Carrie’s shop I left you on the porch?”

  The cat blinked and continued to watch her through the glass pane.

  “Just think, if you trusted me, you could be in here snuggled up on this blanket with me, getting some love and attention, but no, you have to play Mr. Hard-to-Get.”

  Sophie continue to talk to the cat while she sewed, taking care to make sure she got each stitch evenly spaced. She took great care with all the quilts she donated, but this one felt special.

  The furry feline settled in to watch her through the window.

  “How about Stitches?” she asked, wondering how much the cat could hear through the glass panes. He probably could hear everything she was saying. After all, she’d heard his meow just fine. “Or Bobbin. I like both, for obvious reasons. But I think Stitches fits you best.”

  Stitches the cat. Yep. She liked it.

  The cat must have, too, because he laid down on the ledge, closed his eyes, and drifted off, looking at peace.

  Surprised at this change in behavior, Sophie just stared at him.

  “Well, how about that?” she mused, wondering if maybe Sarah was right. Maybe she just needed to be patient and the cat would come around and eventually want to stay. She’d never force the animal to, but if he quit coming around, she’d miss him.

  She glanced over at her phone.

  And Cole? Was Sarah right about that, too? Did she just need to be patient there, too?

  And what was it she was being patient in hopes of gaining, anyway? Cole wasn’t a cat that she wanted to bring in from the cold. So what was he? What did she want him to be?

  Friend. She wanted to be Cole’s friend.

  Even if he hadn’t texted her back.

  Would it seriously have hurt him to have sent some funny little meme back? Or to have at least typed in a LOL or SMH or some other acronym, the way anyone else would? Just something in acknowledgement that he’d gotten her text, that he’d smiled or had a happy thought at the funny picture.

  Maybe the firehall had been busy. She hadn’t heard of anything that had happened around town, but who knew what all the firemen did that she had no clue about?

  Pushing the needle through the material, Sophie jab
bed her finger.

  “Ouch.” She stuck her finger in her mouth, then got up to go to the bathroom to get a bandage so she wouldn’t risk getting blood on the quilt.

  When she came back into her bedroom, the cat was gone from her windowsill.

  And her phone still hadn’t dinged with a returned text.

  Why couldn’t patience have been her virtue?

  Chapter Twelve

  When Cole had volunteered to work during the Pine Hill On-the-Square Christmas Festival, he’d pictured himself manning the firehall, maybe even walking around the square, keeping an eye on things to make sure everyone stayed safe.

  He sure hadn’t seen himself as being part of the parade.

  He wasn’t a parade kind of guy. He wasn’t a Santa-suit-wearing kind of guy, either, but here he was in the perfectly fitted costume Sophie had altered for him, riding in the Tower, waving and tossing Christmas candy to kids as the bucket truck slowly drove along the crowded streets of the parade path.

  “Hey, look who’s just a few yards up ahead on your side of the street.”

  Cole wanted to ignore Andrew, knowing from his friend’s tone that if he looked over, he’d see Sophie there, but his gaze automatically jumped in the direction his buddy had mentioned.

  His phone burned in his pocket, reminding him he hadn’t texted her back, and that for the past two days, he had spent way too much time dwelling on why he hadn’t.

  He supposed he could have snuck away from Ben and Andrew to come up with something to say in return. But every time he’d considered doing so, he’d reminded himself that Sophie was just being nice to him because she felt sorry for him. Nothing more.

  He’d be a fool to think otherwise.

  Which he must be because when they’d been sledding, snowball fighting, playing their game, he hadn’t felt anything like an emotional charity case.

  He’d felt…like someone she really liked.

  Then he’d remind himself of all the reasons why he needed to distance himself from Sophie. Reasons that included his past lurking in the shadows. The last thing he needed was Sophie having that kind of interest in him when he never planned to be in that type of relationship with anyone. Especially not someone as wonderful as Sophie. She deserved better than a messed-up man such as himself.