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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.
