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“That’s wonderful,” the younger woman said, picking up one of the many photos Sophie had printed and spread out on the table.

Photos of men and women wrapped in their quilts. Men and women whose lives Sophie hoped they’d touched so that, when needed, the veterans felt the heartfelt hug of love and appreciation that was sewn into every quilt.

“Being wrapped in a quilt is something I wish every serviceman and woman could experience,” she admitted. “I’ve met so many wonderful people who have sacrificed so much.”

Just as her father had sacrificed so much.

Isabelle blamed him for abandoning them. Sophie tried to view his choices differently, knowing her father had left for reasons that went beyond abandonment.

The utter devastation she’d read in Cole’s journal echoed what she imagined had tormented her father.

“They each have a story to tell, memories that are precious to them, friendships made that have lasted a lifetime,” she continued. “I’m always in awe at each quilt presentation of the person receiving the quilt. Their accomplishments are extraordinary. We owe so much to our wonderful military and I’m so proud to be the daughter of a man who served his country.”

“I wish I sewed,” one of the women mused. “I’d love to make a quilt to donate.”

“If you’re interested in learning, you are talking to the right person. I can teach you to sew. It’s what I do. Our local QOVF group meets once a month to sew for a few hours together at my shop, The Threaded Needle, which is just over that way.” She gestured in the direction of the shop. “If you want to learn, please come. There are some wonderful seamstresses there who’d love to teach you their craft as much as I would, and we always have a great time.”

How could they not with the Butterflies there for entertainment?

“Even if you discover sewing isn’t for you, you’ll still have made some new friends and so will we.” She handed each woman a business card and told them the next date and time. “We’d love to have you join us. There’s nothing to compare to wrapping a quilt you’ve made around a soldier. I don’t know how to fully put it into words except to say that it’s the best feeling in the world.”

Sophie’s gaze went beyond the women to a uniformed man standing just beyond the tent. A handsome man in a fire department uniform rather than a Santa suit or the marine uniform she imagined he’d worn with distinction.

“Cole.”

Talk about the best feeling in the world.

How long had he been standing there and why hadn’t he come on inside the tent?

Automatically she smiled. Crazy, since he didn’t smile back. Then again, he didn’t most of the time, and that hadn’t dissuaded her yet. With as wonderful as his smiles were on the rare occasions he brandished them, she doubted she ever would quit trying for them.

Maybe she was more patient that she’d thought.

Either that, or all the praying for patience she’d been doing was paying off.

Chapter Thirteen

Cole should have handed the snowflake to Andrew and let his bud deliver the ornament while Cole did anything other than purposely seek out Sophie.

Instead, Andrew had been the one to bail when Sheriff Roscoe had stepped up and asked if he’d ridden his motorcycle lately.

Once his friend got to talking about Big Bad Bertha, he’d always lose track of time. He and the sheriff would likely still be talking motorcycles when the whole festival was over and people started taking down the tents.

Deciding he’d rather deliver the ornament without an audience, Cole had taken off for Sophie’s booth. With each step in her direction, the anticipation had built.

Being near her flipped a switch inside him that was like existing versus living. Really living.

With joy. Sophie’s joy.

But after hearing her conversation with the two women, he wondered if he should have stayed put.

No. It was better this way. He’d allowed his head to get clouded with thoughts and ideas that had no place outside of fairytales. This brought him back down to earth.

So for that, he was glad he’d heard her talking to the women. He’d needed the reminder that Sophie’s interest in him stemmed from things other than girl meets boy and girl likes boy despite all the bad things boy has done and all the memories that haunted him.

Sophie wanted to fix him. Probably by wrapping him in one of her quilts. As if it was that easy. She had no clue.

“Thanks for the information. We’ll stop by your shop soon,” the younger of Sophie’s two visitors promised, taking a brochure along with the business card Sophie had given her.