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Too many to count, for sure. Just as visions of Sophie had played through his head too many times.
“Look who’s here.” Andrew gestured toward her table. “You need to say hi.”
If looks could kill, his buddy would need a graveyard plot.
“Hey, if you don’t want to talk to her, maybe I should,” Ben teased, waggling his brows.
Ben could join Andrew six feet under.
Cole didn’t need one of his buddies dating a woman who’d read that journal. He’d hoped his path wouldn’t cross Sophie’s again anytime soon. He should have known better.
He had known better. Pine Hill wasn’t that big.
“I asked her out once,” Ben admitted, frowning as he stared toward the table where Sophie sat. “In high school. I was a couple of grades ahead of her, but I liked her smile. She told me she was busy attending a sew-in, whatever that is.”
Andrew snorted.
Cole frowned. “A sew-in? As in sewing?” he couldn’t help but ask, ignoring how strangely pleased he felt that Sophie hadn’t gone out with Ben back then.
What did it matter whether or not Ben had dated her in high school?
Ben gave a self-derisive laugh. “Yep. A sew-in. I never asked again. I figured her saying she was sewing was akin to her saying she was washing her hair or some other thanks-but-no-thanks excuse.”
“Can you blame her? Who’d want to go out with your ugly mug?” Andrew ribbed Ben, to Cole’s relief. If they were needling each other, then neither one of them were giving him a hard time.
“If you think you’ll have better luck this time, go for it,” he told Ben, secretly hoping that wasn’t what his friend would choose to do.
His friend might be single, but it wasn’t because women didn’t want to be in Ben’s life. It was more that Ben dated women just long enough to decide whether or not they were “the one,” then moved on to the next woman to catch his interest.
“You’re not calling dibs?” Ben eyed him suspiciously.
“I keep telling you—there’s nothing there. I barely know her. She just found something of mine in one of the boxes we brought over to the church, and thought I’d donated it by accident. She tried to return it. It wasn’t something I wanted back. End of story.”
“Yet she wanted to talk to you in private?” Ben raised a brow.
“As private as it gets when standing just outside the firehall in plain sight of anyone who came by or looked out a window,” Cole pointed out, clearing his throat for emphasis on the window part.
“I think she just wanted an excuse to get away from you, Benny boy,” Andrew added with a grin.
Ben tossed a paper wad toward his friend, which Andrew deflected, sending it flying off in a different direction.
Cole glanced around the church community room floor, meaning to pick up the paper but he didn’t see where it landed. Just as he was about to get up to search for it, a woman tapped on a microphone.
The well-put-together seventyish woman from Sophie’s table had gone to the front podium, cleared her throat, and almost instantly silenced everyone. Even cyan-blue granny had quieted down.
Cole was impressed. He’d seen less effective drill sergeants.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here today to officially kick off the planning for this year’s Christmas toy drive. For any of those who may not know me”—she sounded as if she thought that an impossibility, the words a formality she needed to say all the same—“I’m Maybelle Kirby. I’ve headed up the toy drive since I co-founded it over twenty years ago.”
Again, impressive. Obviously, she was a pillar of the community.
Cole liked that about Pine Hill. There were people who’d lived there their entire lives, who’d devoted themselves to making it a better place. It still astonished him that this apple-pie-and-baseball-loving life existed in the world. No wonder his uncle had never moved away from his small farm just outside the town.
“Donations were down last year, probably due in part to the loss of our dear co-chair, Jean Hamilton. We miss her so much.” The woman’s gaze slid over to the brunette at the table before she gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. Cole took that to mean that the young woman had been a relative of the departed. “We barely had enough toys to meet our requests.”
Maybelle’s lips thinned, and she lifted her chin with a determination Cole admired, one that said she refused for any child in need to not receive a toy on her watch. No doubt they never would while she was in charge.
“The committee and I have been working to ensure this year’s drive is a smashing success,” she continued, glancing toward her table that must be the committee. Made sense, given that Chief was seated there.
