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Cole didn’t bother to hide his amusement since it was too late anyway. “This one did.”
“You gonna share? I could use a laugh.”
Cole touched his screen to keep the meme lit up and handed over his phone.
Andrew snorted at the picture.
“That’s a local number,” Ben pointed out, leaning over to get a closer look.
“You were supposed to check out the joke, not see if you recognized the phone number.”
“Just hit the redial button to find out who it is,” Ben suggested.
“He doesn’t need to,” Andrew assured, glancing toward Cole with amusement filling his eyes. “He knows who it’s from.”
“Maybe,” Cole admitted. He didn’t have any programmed numbers saved as contacts in his phone. There was no reason to. He knew all the numbers to the firehall, knew the chief’s number, and the crews’ numbers. He preferred using his mind, occupying his brain space with facts and figures rather than memories. It was one of the reasons he never wrote in the answers on his crossword puzzles. Having to keep up with a mental map of the answers and where they fell on the puzzle forced him to stay focused.
Usually.
Andrew handed over the now dark-screened phone. “You going to text her back?”
Good question. Doing so shouldn’t feel like a big deal. He could just send a funny message of acknowledgement and be done with it.
But texting back felt a very big deal. So much so that the thought of doing so made his blood feel as if it quivered through his veins. Cole slid the phone into his pocket.
“How about that buttermilk pie?” he asked, standing up and tossing the book of puzzles aside. “The two platefuls of food I ate earlier have settled enough to enjoy dessert.”
“I know what you’re doing, bro.” Andrew’s gaze narrowed as he set the controller down in his chair. “But I’m okay with it since it means cutting into that pie.”
Which was exactly what Cole had hoped.
Maybe the sugar rush would offset the urge to return Sophie’s text.
Both were sweet.
Why had she sent him the meme?
Pity, kindness, or the something more that he felt sparking between them despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise?
Black Friday came bright and early, and The Threaded Needle was going to have its best day of sales ever. Sophie and Isabelle arrived at the shop a full hour prior to opening to make sure they had everything ready.
“Today is going to be great,” Sophie assured her sister, knowing Isabelle was always crunching numbers in her head.
Isabelle nodded. “It will be. The window display looks wonderful, by the way. I’ve had a lot of people comment on it.”
“Thank you.” Sophie beamed at her sister’s praise. “I’m hoping it gets a few more folks to sign up for my Make Your Own Stocking class.”
“There’s only a couple of spots left after the Butterflies signed up.”
“All of them?”
Isabelle nodded.
Sophie’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure what I can teach any of them. They’ve been sewing longer than I’ve been alive.”
“They probably just want to show their support.”
“Or are up to something.” Like more matchmaking. Knowing them, they’d probably signed Cole up, too. Subtlety was rarely their thing. Come to think of it, she could probably blame them for the fact that she’d never had any subtlety herself. After all, they’d had a formative influence on her while she was growing up.
