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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.
