Wrapped Up in Christmas Joy - Janice Lynn Page 0,6

in this moment, rational thinking didn’t matter. That book had never been meant for anyone to read, and especially not the bubbly, full-of-goodness woman he’d met over the summer. She never should have been exposed to the pure ugliness marring the pages. Marring him.

When he spoke again, he kept his voice low and steady. “I get that you didn’t know who the journal belonged to, so you read it. Fine. Go back to your life-is-a-bed-of-roses existence and forget everything you read.”

Wincing a little, she shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

Surprised at how her gaze hadn’t wavered from his when he’d expected her to walk away and never waste another breath on him again, Cole frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her chock-full-of-emotion gaze studied his. “I won’t forget what you wrote as long as I live.”

“Then I’m the one who’s sorry.” No one should be subjected to his failings. Not in real life. Not in writing. “But that doesn’t mean I want the book back. Thanks, but no thanks.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at the journal clutched to her chest, much less to touch the worn leather book.

“Do the world a favor and throw the thing in the trash. Or better yet, burn it.” Even Superman has his Kryptonite, he reminded himself, determined he would not let this drag him down into a place he never wanted to return to. “I don’t care so long as you get rid of it because I never want to see that book, or you, again.”

Chapter Two

“Can you believe he didn’t want the journal back?” Sophie mused later that day as she unpacked a shipment of holiday fabric at The Threaded Needle. She and her sister worked hard to keep fresh supplies available to their clients at their boutique-style quilt shop located on Pine Hill’s town square.

From the far end of the checkout counter, Isabelle said, “What I can’t believe is that you’re still talking about him and that journal you found.”

Sophie paused from pulling out a bolt of candy cane–print material to stare at her sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been talking about him all morning,” Isabelle pointed out. She tucked a strand of her shoulder-length pale blond hair behind her ear, then shrugged. “So what if the guy didn’t want his journal back? It’s his choice, right? Do as he asked and get rid of it.”

Horrified, Sophie gasped. “Absolutely not!”

Isabelle didn’t know what the journal contained, as Sophie had glossed over the details when her sister had asked. Even before she’d met Cole, Sophie had felt protective of the book and its contents.

Isabelle arched a brow, frowning in that older sister way she had. “You’ve got no right to keep his journal, not when he told you to get rid of it.”

Purposely not looking at Isabelle, Sophie went back to pulling Christmas-printed fabric bolts from the box and ignored the smidge of guilt she felt at disregarding Cole’s wishes.

“I do have the right,” she said after a few minutes of mental gymnastics. “He donated it to the church holiday rummage sale, and I bought it.”

Even though she’d assumed Cole had donated it by mistake, she’d still insisted on paying for it before taking it away from the church. The event helped raise money to give families with limited means grocery gift cards for them to purchase food for Christmas.

“I tried to return it,” she continued. “He didn’t want it back.” Maybe he truly wanted to just forget. She supposed she could understand that. Still, she couldn’t imagine tossing out something that contained so much of him on the pages.

She couldn’t do it.

“It’s mine now.”

“Fine.” Sighing, her sister shook her head. “It’s bought and paid for.” Isabelle’s eyes crinkled with curiosity. “Tell me, though, what did this guy look like? Was he cute?”

Cute? That was like calling Mount Everest a mound of dirt.

Cole was…feeling her face flush, Sophie averted her gaze and shrugged. “Um, you’ve met him. At Ruby’s this summer. He’s…okay.”

“Okay” was a worse description than “cute,” but she wasn’t telling her nosy sister how disturbingly attractive she found Cole.

“Oh my goodness.” Isabelle’s voice took on a higher pitch as she came around the corner under the guise of helping with the fabric. “I don’t remember him, but he really must be cute. I can tell by your face.”

Sophie focused on unpacking the brightly patterned material as if she were unveiling delicate prized possessions that required her utmost attention and care. She kind of did feel that way about