“Although she was three years younger, Sophie and I both worked at the quilt shop during my high school years. I left for college. Sophie stayed, finished school, and started working full-time. After I graduated, I stayed in Nashville and worked for an accounting firm until the shop came up for sale and Sophie needed me as her partner to pull off buying it.”
“Any regrets?”
“None.” She’d always known she’d come back to be near her family. It was why she’d not allowed herself to be too devastated when Greg had dumped her after they’d dated for three years. He’d been a workaholic, too, and sometimes she thought they’d just enjoyed having someone to go to dinner with after their long workdays. Still, his telling her he no longer wanted them to be a couple had stung.
“You sound as if you enjoyed your job in Nashville.”
“I did,” she admitted. “But I enjoy the business side of the quilt shop, too, watching it grow and become more successful. Sophie is why the shop looks so fabulous.”
“And you’re the brains behind the scenes?”
“Sophie does more than her share and has pulled long hours over the years since we bought the shop. She’s the creative genius of the business and I’m happiest in the office, crunching numbers.” She smiled. “I like numbers.”
“Me, too.”
Stepping onto to the greenway, Isabelle gave him a questioning look.
“Numbers make sense.” He stayed next to her beneath the large oak tree-lined path as they headed past a playground with a few families there. “Numbers are black and white and mean what they mean.” He shrugged. “They just make sense.”
“Exactly.”
A girl Isabelle had gone to high school with sat on the bench near the playground, watching her kids play and, spotting Isabelle, waved. As she’d done with Carrie, Isabelle waved back, but didn’t stop to chat. There were times living in a friendly small town were problematic. She’d hoped no one would see her and Zach. She supposed she should be grateful it had only been the few so far and fortunately no Butterflies.Yet.
“Numbers are constant and unchanging,” he continued. “Finite. You know what you’re getting. You—”
Isabelle came to a quick stop to gawk at him. “No. No. No.”
“What?”
“Just…” The gentle November breeze messed with her hair and, tightly gripping the bag she carried, she blew the stray strands from her face. “I don’t want to have anything in common with you.”
He laughed. “Afraid I’ll win you over?”
“You can’t win me over.” Not really, but he’d been surprising her from the moment he walked into the quilt shop.
A big, buff soldier who bought his hostess a thoughtful gift? Yeah, she’d liked that. That he helped Sarah? Yep, she liked that, too. That his take on numbers echoed hers? Well, she didn’t want to think of him as an intelligent being.
Sighing, she glanced around, decided the sooner they got started, the sooner they’d finish, so their current location was as good as any. She stepped onto the grassy park lawn and walked past a couple of concrete picnic tables located near some trees along the bank that would provide a cover from anyone walking the greenway.
“I can’t?” He fell into step beside her. “You should know that I’ve never backed down from a challenge, even missions deemed impossible.”
Shifting the picnic basket, she eyed him. “Is that what I am to you? A challenge because you’re bored during your visit to our little Christmasy town?”
“I’m not bored, Blondie.”
He didn’t look bored. He looked amused. At her expense. She could blame no one but herself. She needed to quit giving him entertainment fodder.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded. “Do you see me as a challenge? Is that what this is about?”
He studied her, then shrugged a shoulder. “If I say yes, you’re a challenge, that’s going to upset you. If I say, no, you’re not a challenge, you’re going to set out to prove me wrong so that you can be upset. Either way I can’t win and, as much as I enjoy sparring with you, I’d rather enjoy this semi-nice weather and your company without upsetting you.”
Was that why she’d persisted? Because she’d purposely set him up to fail? She wanted him to fail. Needed him to fail because she didn’t want to like him. Fine. She’d talk about something else. Anything else.
“The weather is more than semi-nice. For November, it’s wonderful. The high temperature was supposed to be in the low sixties, but it feels warmer. Great, even, for the time of year. If you’re cold, you should wear a coat.” She wished he was wearing a coat. Anything that covered up those muscled arms and that blasted T-shirt had her vote.
“I’m not cold.”
A hair tickled her face again, and she swiped her forearm across her cheek, hoping to fix the disarray. “Then why say semi-nice?”
