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Perhaps her excuse to Ben of being busy sewing made more sense than Cole first thought.
Thinking of his friends made him grimace. They’d not let up on the Sophie jokes since they’d bumped into her at the toy drive meeting on Tuesday evening. No, before that. They’d been at it since her firehall visit. Which was why he’d offered to meet Sophie at her workplace rather than his when she’d wanted to immediately start crossing off businesses on their list during her lunch break.
He worked twenty-four on, forty-eight off most of the time, so meeting her hadn’t been a problem. He didn’t have to be back at the station until the following morning.
Climbing out of his SUV, he glanced around, a cool breeze whipping at the flannel shirt he’d thrown over his T-shirt before heading out. He’d driven through the square many times, had frequented the local pawnshop located on one side for used farm equipment, had even helped put out a fire in an upstairs apartment above one of the businesses, but he paused to take in the stately courthouse that was the center of Pine Hill as he always did.
Automatically standing a little taller, full of pride, he lifted his gaze to the flag that flew high and majestic at the top of a pole out front, seeming to stand guard above the small town.
God Bless America was printed on a large wooden sign on the courthouse yard, surrounded by miniature wreaths with flags in recognition of local heroes, past and present, that had been placed as part of a Veterans Day service the previous week. Cole had intentionally stayed in the background, but had otherwise proudly attended that ceremony, paying his respects to his comrades, his flag, and his country.
Even if he’d never really thought he could belong anywhere, he’d come closer than he’d believed possible in this friendly little town.
He’d been right to stay rather than immediately sell his uncle’s place, as he’d initially considered. The farm was where he was meant to be. On his off-work days, he was slowly updating his late uncle’s house. He figured if he did decide to sell, to move on someday, the repairs and modernization would speed things along.
He hadn’t gotten anything done that morning, though, as he’d been too preoccupied with thoughts of Sophie and trying to figure out how best to make the Santa suit fit him.
A chime went off as he walked into a pine-and-cinnamon scented, color-coordinated world of fabric, accessories, and various knickknacks. Several sewing machine displays stood on one side of the shop. Other sections featured stylishly decorated shelves packed with various how-to projects. To his right were a pastel section with various baby quilts and even a patriotic section with a few red, white, and blue quilts that were perhaps leftover from celebrating Veteran’s Day. One area boasted Christmas fabrics and hand-crafted Christmas items. Although it was still November, he supposed one had to plan ahead when making homemade items for the holidays.
Cole could sew on a button or hem a pair of dress blues. Otherwise, he knew nothing about sewing or quilting, as proven by the mess he’d made that morning attempting to rip out the hem on the Santa pants. But even his untrained eyes recognized the aesthetic appeal of the well-stocked and well-organized shop. No doubt just stepping through the doors made crafters’ pocketbooks empty themselves.
Christmas music played in the background and he could hear Sophie singing along to the upbeat tune about rocking around a tree, though she wasn’t in sight.
“Good morning,” she called from somewhere behind a display shelf to his left.
Hearing her voice kicked his pulse up several notches. He paused, sternly reminding himself that all they had to do was go drop off toy collection boxes and pick up a few checks. It was just another mission, one where he’d keep his eyes on the objective. He’d get through this and be done with Sophie once and for all.
Or at least until the next time they bumped into each other.
“Feel free to look around. Our remaining Thanksgiving material is on clearance and we’ve got some pre-Christmas specials going,” she called, obviously unaware of who exactly had entered her shop. “I’ll be with you in a few, but if you need me before I get there, just holler.”
Cole wouldn’t be needing her or any of her holiday specials. What he needed was to get this over with so he could get back out to the farmhouse before someone made him hand over his man card. He headed in the direction her voice had come from, rounded a display and paused.
Wearing jeans and another red Christmas sweater, this one with three presents on the front, a slightly-swaying-to-the-music Sophie leaned over a second cutting table and ran a rotary tool along a straight edge, making a perfect slice along the fabric. She moved the straight edge, double checked the width of the material the cut would create, then made another swift swipe of the sharp-bladed tool.
“You sure you’re licensed to wield that thing and dance at the same time?” he heard himself ask, instantly regretting the teasing note in his tone. He needed to keep their interactions simple, minimal, and completely professional.
“Oh!” She jumped at his voice, turning toward him as she did so. “Cole! You startled me.”
“No kidding.”
Uncertainty shone in her hazel eyes as her lips curved in a tentative smile. No doubt she wondered if he was friend or foe.
He was neither, but for the duration of the toy drive, they were stuck together.
Sill looking a little flustered, she glanced at her watch, then up at him. “You’re early.”
By ten minutes. He arched a brow. “Should I have waited outside?”
“Oh, no, definitely not. I…just, um, let me finish these strips, if that’s okay? I’m almost done. I’ll run them through the cutting machine later this afternoon.”
“Cutting machine?”
She gestured to a table set up to one side of the open work area. “We sell packages of precut shapes like flowers, stars, leaves—that kind of thing. During down time, I put quilt and table-runner kits together.”
He supposed a small-town specialty shop would need to find creative ways to stay in the black and be competitive with chain stores.
“Quilters don’t want to cut their own material?”
