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“What journal?” Carrie asked as she bent to pick up a stray piece of wadded-up paper off the floor.

Sarah glanced over the room to make sure they’d restored it to pre-meeting cleanliness, then said, “Sophie found Cole’s journal in a box of donated books when we were getting ready for the church rummage sale. She returned it to him.”

Sophie started to tell her friends that Cole had refused to take the journal, but then decided to continue to keep that to herself and hope her sister did the same.

If she told them, they’d be more curious about what he’d written, might even ask to read it, and she had no intentions of telling anyone the things she’d read or of sharing the book.

“He’s easy on the eyes, but not much of a talker,” Carrie mused, putting her hand on the back of a chair. “Jeff volunteered with a group of kids to wash the firetrucks for a community project over the summer.” Jeff was her teenaged son. “I was one of the parent volunteers, and I remember noticing how quiet Cole was. Polite, but quiet. Is he more expressive as a writer?”

Not meeting her friend’s eyes, Sophie shrugged. Cole’s story wasn’t hers to tell, and he obviously didn’t want anyone to know about it, including Sophie.

“I’d like to make him a quilt for him,” she said to distract them, knowing bringing up their shared passion should do the trick. Carrie wasn’t a quilter, or even a seamstress, which was why she had Sophie making the bandanas to sell at her pet store. That didn’t keep Carrie from volunteering with them during sew-ins to help in other ways, though.

An avid quilter, Sarah’s face shone with excitement. “Oh, that would be wonderful. We could…”

Sophie shook her head. “You, my friend, have a wedding to plan. Christmas Day is barely over a month away and will be here before you know it.”

Sarah had chosen to become Bodie’s wife on her favorite day of the year, which Sophie found perfect for the couple as their romance had started during the Christmas season a year ago.

“So,” Sophie continued, “‘we’ won’t be doing anything.”

Happily in love, Sarah laughed. “Okay, you’re right, but I do think it’s a wonderful idea to award a Quilt of Valor to Cole.”

“Me, too.” After reading his journal, she couldn’t imagine anyone more deserving or in need of one. “I’d like to make him a quilt myself.”

Everyone in the room’s eyes bore into Sophie and she fought to keep her expression casual.

“Because you feel badly for what he went through?” Carrie asked.

Sophie bit the inside of her lower lip, then nodded. “Yes. If ever a Marine needed to be wrapped in a quilt of healing, Cole Aaron does, and I want to be the one to make his quilt.”

“Well, you know what happened when I made Bodie’s quilt,” Sarah reminded with a smile.

Sophie fought bursting out laughing at Sarah’s insinuation. Bodie had come to Pine Hill to say thank you to his quiltmaker and he’d ended up falling in love with Sarah.

Forget coming to town to thank her—Cole seemed more likely to leave town to avoid her. Sophie could wrap Cole in a dozen quilts, and she doubted he’d forgive her reading his journal, much less feel gratitude and love toward her.

She’d never made a quilt with the expectation of receiving either of those. She made them because of the gratitude she felt, the love she felt, toward the military who gave and sacrificed so much for their fellow countrymen.

She made each and every quilt for her father.

She would make Cole a red, white, and blue quilt and maybe, since she might never be able to say the words, doing so would let him kn

ow he was appreciated.

Dreading the next couple of hours, Cole parked his SUV in the only vacant parking spot in front of Sophie’s quilt shop.

The store was located in a row of similar buildings that ran the length of one side of the town square. Its antique brick exterior had been painted a country blue trimmed with white, giving it a unique look. The quilt shop’s windows shone with a colorful display of red, green, and gold fabrics and a Christmas quilt was displayed over a rocking chair with a message about being thankful. The tan awning above the entrance was pristine.

Garlands festooned with lights wrapped around the windows and door and a big wreath hung on the door, matching several other businesses around the square. A bench sat out front and someone had tied big red bows on each end. Old fashioned lamp posts lined the street and were heavily decorated with snow flocked garland and ribbons of their own.

The whole place looked like something from a magazine article about small towns or like it belonged on a Christmas postcard where someone jotted a happy note about days gone by. Warm, inviting, nostalgic, festive.

A sign with a large needle with a thread looped through it was painted onto Sophie’s shop’s window front. The Threaded Needle.

Catchy. Had Sophie chosen the name or had the shop been around longer than she had? Despite its spotless refurbishing, it appeared as if it could have been a cornerstone of the square since the town had been established in the eighteen-hundreds.

A quilt shop.