by Janice Lynn
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my new son and my beautiful daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Bodie Lewis.”
Sophie swiped away a happy tear rolling down her face as cheers and clapping resounded throughout the church building.
Hands clasped, smiles wide, Bodie and Sarah made their way down the aisle, followed by Lukas escorting Maybelle, then Harry leading the other three Butterflies from the church.
Sophie’s mom sighed. “What a beautiful wedding. I can’t wait until I get to throw one of you girls a wedding and see you that happy.”
Isabelle put her finger to her nose. “Not it.”
Rather than address what her mother had said, or even think about how it made her feel, Sophie rolled her eyes at her sister, then looked at her mother. “Sorry, but I’m afraid you may have a long wait ahead of you since neither of us are even dating.”
Her mother looked confused. “What about that nice fireman who sat with us a few Sundays ago? He was a cute thing.”
Cute? Even her own mother? Sophie sighed. “Sitting with us in church one time doesn’t qualify Cole as my boyfriend.”
“I was under the impression you spent quite a bit more time with him than just that Sunday.” Ah, mothers really did know everything. “Just so you know, I approve.”
That got Isabelle’s attention. “You do? But he’s former military. I thought you would—”
“What does his being former military have to do with anything?” Their mother seemed genuinely surprised that Isabelle considered that to be an issue.
“Dad—”
“Goodness, Isabelle, Sophie’s friend has nothing to do with your father.”
“But—”
“Some of the best people I know were in the military,” Darlene continued. “There’s that sweet Mr. Johnson who lives over on Baker. I do his hair once a month. He served in the Vietnam War and the things that man has seen.” She paused, then took a deep breath. “Then there’s Ella Stewart. Did you know she was a nurse in the Army back in the day? I bet she turned all the boys' heads, because even in her eighties, she’s a looker.”
Sophie and Isabelle exchanged looks. The wedding must have done something to loosen their mother’s tongue, because she didn’t usually talk about their father or the military unless Sophie was discussing her quilts.
“Sophie, you should make them both quilts. I can’t believe I haven’t thought to mention them to you before.” Darlene smiled at them. “Now, let’s head toward the reception. You know how much I love wedding cake.”
Their mother linked her arms with them, much as she might have done when they were younger, and led them out of the church sanctuary.
Christmas morning with her mom and Isabelle had been perfect. Sarah’s wedding had been perfect. But after arriving back home that afternoon, a nervous energy buzzed inside Sophie that she couldn’t ease.
She knew why.
Cole’s quilt. She stared at where it sat on the dresser, only lacking a small area of binding to be finished—yet she hadn’t done the final few stitches.
It wouldn’t take her five minutes to finish. Why hadn’t she?
Because when she finished the quilt, she’d have to make a decision on what to do with it.
She’d made the quilt for Cole. It had been his from the start, even if she hadn’t realized that right away. He didn’t want to be awarded a quilt, but that didn’t make it any less his. Every stitch had been placed with him in mind. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, give it to anyone else, not when it belonged to Cole.
Walking over to the dresser, she picked up the quilt, eyed the ten-inch section needing bound, set down on her bed, and went to work.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Meow.”
“Hello there, traitor,” she teased the cat who’d started tapping on her window when he wanted inside. Sophie sat the quilt down long enough to open her window so the cat could take its place at the foot of her bed.
As expected, the cat came in and settled in his usual spot.
Sophie closed the window, then sat back on the bed, picked the quilt back up, and worked on the binding.
The cat meowed, stood, moved to where Sophie sat, giving her an expectant look.
“What?”
He meowed again.
When Sophie held out her hand, he rubbed up against it, moving back and forth so Sophie stroked him from head to tip of the tail.
Wow. Excitement filled her.
“About time, don’t you think?” she asked, as she grew bolder in petting the cat. He continued to allow Sophie to pet him until he decided to nestle in next to her to go to sleep.
“Merry Christmas to me,” she murmured, reaching for her phone so she could take a photo to commemorate the moment.
Once she’d gotten a couple of shots, smiling, Sophie went back to sewing, finished the binding, then hugged the quilt to her.
Cole’s quilt. She wanted him to have it. Needed him to have it. Today. On Christmas.
He didn’t want the quilt presented to him officially? Fine. That didn’t mean she couldn’t give it to him as a Christmas present. What he did with it after that was up to him.
“Sorry I’m about to disturb your nap,” she told the cat as she stood from the bed. To her surprise, the cat stood also, leisurely stretched, then jumped off the bed to the floor and rubbed against her legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do so.
She paused long enough to give him some loving, then went to get a box and wrapping supplies.
The cat helped—sort of—as Sophie folded the quilt, placed it in the box.
Just as she was preparing to tape the box, she paused.
There was one more gift she needed to give to Cole.
Chapter Eighteen
“Dude, I’m going to start charging you delivery fees,” Andrew warned as he came out into the break room of the fire hall. Confused, Cole glanced up from his crossword puzzle. “Or at least expect a tip.”
“I’ve got a tip for you,” Cole said wryly. “Quit accepting gifts from strangers.”
“Hey, that last gift saved the day for the toy drive,” Andrew reminded him. “Unfortunately, this feels too heavy to be a cashier’s check, but maybe you’ll get lucky and there’s one tucked inside.”
“You just want another excuse to go buy toys,” Ben teased his friend.
“Who needs an excuse?” Andrew grinned, gently shaking the package and listening to see if he could figure out the contents.
Cole watched him come to a conclusion, then grin as if he knew something they didn’t.
“Where did that come from?”
“No ‘from’ name,” Andrew said, holding out the beautifully wrapped package.
“A present showed up at the door, and you just happened to be the one to find it?” Cole eyed the box with the same trepidation he’d eye a booby trap. He suspected this might be one.
An emotional booby trap.
“Something like that.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
His buddy knew more than he was admitting to.
“Here.”
Cole reluctantly took the present, glanced down at the flowy, curvy way his name was written in handwriting he recognized instantly. Fighting to keep his breathing even, he sat the present on the table beside him.
“Open it,” Andrew said. Cole shook his head. “Dude, that’s not funny.”
“Yeah, we want to know what Santa brought you,” Ben chimed in.
“If he thought it was from Santa, he’d open it,” Andrew pointed out with a chuckle.
“True.” Ben poked Cole. “We want to know what Sophie got you. Open it. Come on, before our holiday shift ends.”
Cole glanced at his watch. Rather than work a full twenty-four hours, they’d be swapping out with another crew a
t four. Which was only about twenty minutes away.
His gaze shifted to the present. From the size of the box and its weight, Cole didn’t have to open the package to know what was inside. He knew.
Despite his friends’ complaints, Cole didn’t unwrap the present at the station. When his shift ended, he placed it in his SUV passenger seat and still didn’t want to open it. He sat there for a while, considering whether to drop it off on Sophie’s front porch before driving back to the farmhouse. The package remained unopened as he placed it on his coffee table and sat staring at the shiny gold ribbon that made him think of the streaks in her hair, the sunshine of her soul.
Sappy. He should open the present and be done with it.
Why had she even gotten him a present? He’d pushed her away. Because he didn’t want her pity. Because he wanted to protect her from himself.
The hurt in her hazel eyes had haunted him every moment since, but pushing Sophie from his life was the best thing he could do for her. She deserved better, would find better so long as he stayed out of the way.
Maybe now that Ben and Susan had broken things off, Sophie would turn to his pal. They definitely had more in common than she and Cole ever had, and Ben was a great guy.
But the idea of Sophie with Ben, with anyone, made Cole want to run in the opposite direction as fast as he could, for as long as he could, until he collapsed in exhaustion.
Sweat popped out on the back of his neck as if he really had gone for that run.
“Just open the present,” he ordered himself out loud. “You know what’s inside.”
Cursing his cowardice, Cole opened the package. Then, sitting back down on his sofa, he lifted the lid off the box, not surprised to see the quilted red, white, and blue fabric.
He was somewhat surprised to see the journal and envelope on top of it, though.
And was completely surprised at a twelve-inch-tall windup music box shaped like a Christmas tree with a plastic drum as the base, garland branches and tiny packages as the decorations. On top was a twinkly gold star.
Knowing he was about to hear a rendition of “O Christmas Tree,” Cole wound the handle one time and wasn’t disappointed as the music filled the silence of the room.
Ignoring the journal, he picked up the card and slid it out of its envelope.
A Christmas card. On the cover was a sled covered in glittery snow with a red ribbon tied around it. Inside was a note from Sophie.
Every stitch in this quilt was put there for you, one at a time, and each was meant to mend broken pieces. You may never choose to use it, but I made it to wrap around you, to be a forever hug and reminder that you are loved no matter how dark the moment. Merry Christmas, Cole.
P.S. Everyone deserves a Christmas tree.
Cole closed his eyes. Sophie. Sophie. Sophie.
Setting the journal on his coffee table, he lifted the quilt from the box, shook it out, and then stared at it in awe.
Stars. Stripes. Arrow points that probably had some quilter’s name he didn’t know.
He’d never seen anything like it.
Had certainly never been given anything like it.
“Oh, Sophie.” He shook his head, trying to clear himself of the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I don’t deserve this or what you think you feel for me.”
She’d said he was loved. Did she mean friendship love? Christian love? Or did she fancy that she felt something more for him?
He feared it was the latter, even though she deserved so much more than he was or would ever be.
Put the quilt away, he ordered himself.
Instead, he wrapped it around himself and pulled the material tight.
It was as close as he could get to another real hug from Sophie.
Pulling a corner of the quilt to his face, he breathed in, relishing the scent of the laundered material because it smelled of her.
He rubbed his thumb over the stitching and recalled what she’d written. Every stitch was made to mend. To mend him.
Cole sank back onto the sofa, quilt still wrapped around him, and stared at the journal.
The journal he’d written in a haze, set aside, and never opened again.
That book told of the things inside him that left him unable to ever be with Sophie. Or anyone. It contained memories of life and death, pain and sorrow, blood and gore.
Of his biggest failure when he’d waited too long to pull his guys out. That decision had cost him and his men dearly and had triggered his decision not to reenlist.
The guilt pressed on him heavily, dragging him back into grim place where he’d nearly lost himself. He’d managed to claw his way back from it, but the fight never stopped. He always feared he’d find himself slipping back to it again. That misery filled the pages of the book.
Sophie had read it all.
She was too good inside to see the bad in him, so it was no wonder she’d felt sorry for him.
Pity or not, he pulled the quilt tighter around him, letting the material hug him as Sophie had promised.
The music box clicked off. Cole picked it up. This time he wound it as far as it would go, set it down on the table, and watched as the tree slowly spun to keep his eyes from going to the book.
And yet, it seemed to glow with urgency in front of him, calling to him in a way he wasn’t strong enough to resist. He picked it up and cracked the spine for the first time in almost two years.
Two years that seemed like a lifetime ago.
The deeply embedded words on the first page could have easily been carved onto his heart, they pained him so. The second page hurt just as intently.
Taking a deep breath, Sophie’s scent filling his nostrils, the music from her tree playing in the background, he read on. Page after page. Word after word.
Moisture stung his eyes, ran down his face, as surely as if he was back at basic and had just been gassed.
He read on, rewound the tree as needed to keep the music going, then read some more.
When he came to the last page, hands shaking, he closed the journal and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as memories and emotions swamped him.
Not just of his time in the military but the days following his return to civilian life when he’d drifted from one job to another, not fitting in anywhere, not having a sense of purpose. Not until he’d seen an advertisement to train as a firefighter.
Fighting fires had put out more than external flames. It had helped restore balance and a sense of purpose. It had helped him become who he was supposed to be.
Not a hero, as Sophie labeled him. But not a complete failure, either.
Cole picked up Sophie’s Christmas card, reread the words she’d written.
He was loved. By Sophie. Whether that love was friendship, Christian fellowship…or more, he’d take it. Welcome it. Cherish it.
He knew what he had to do. Right then. Because some things couldn’t wait. Gathering up the journal, card, and his tree—keeping the quilt around him—he practically ran to his SUV.
He had to see Sophie, to thank her for his gift, and to wish her a Merry Christmas before it was too late.
As he was getting into the vehicle, something hanging from the coat rack caught his eye.
Yeah, he needed to give her that, too.
Sophie fed the material beneath the sewing machine foot, making scant quarter-inch seams all the way around her latest Petdana.
She hadn’t been able to sleep, and not because of the cat sharing her bed, so she’d decided to go for a walk. Which had turned into deciding to sew at the shop for a while. If she couldn’t sleep, she could at least get some work accomplished.
She’d texted Isabelle so her sister wouldn’t worry when she didn’t show back up at the house for a while, and then she’d started sewing.
And sewing.
Because sewing was her therapy. It had been her entire life. Her grandmother had started her sewing with the idea that it would help with her inability to focus, and it had worked.
When she felt badly, she sewed and felt better. When she felt mad, she sewed and felt glad. When she felt drained, she sewed and was rejuvenated at the creation of something new. When her mind raced, she sewed, and usually, it helped calm her.
Tonight, she sewed in sorrow at losing something she supposed she’d never really had. Because if Cole had cared for her as she’d thought, he’d have at least texted her a funny Christmas meme or a thank you.
An Oh wow, Sophie, this quilt is amazing and so are you.
Ha. Her imagination really was on overdrive.
Because the reality was, he’d gotten her gift—she knew he had because she’d texted Andrew to ask him, and the firefighter said Cole hadn’t even opened the present.
For all she knew, he’d gone home and started a Christmas bonfire with it. Because he didn’t want her gift, or her.
Sophie finished the pet bandana she was working on, reached for the next set of embroidered material she had already pinned together, and had just started to sew it when something tapped against the front door.
Panic hit her. She was at the shop. Alone. On Christmas night. Was someone trying to break in? Did bad guys knock?
Just as she was preparing to sneak behind the counter so she could go to Isabelle’s office and check the security camera, her phone rang.
“Oh!” She jumped, wondering if whoever was at the door could hear her phone, and scrambling to answer it, especially when she saw who the caller was.
“Cole?” she whispered as she answered, relief filling her that she’d at least be able to tell someone what was happening. “You may have to rescue me again. I—Someone is knocking at the shop’s door and I’m here alone and—”
“It’s me, Sophie. I’m the one knocking at the shop’s door.”
Cole was at the door?
“What are you doing here? You scared me.”
“Sorry. I figured Isabelle called you to let you know I was on my way from the moment I left your house.”