Needed to help him.

Not that he looked as if he needed help. Now that he was out of his Santa suit, he looked tough, handsome—a bit dangerous, even, as if he could take on the world and win.

He wore the standard black uniform pants and a polo shirt with the firehall emblem over his heart and short sleeves that accentuated his muscles. His dark brown hair was cut in a no-nonsense short style. His eyes—a Siberian Husky pale blue with a darker, deep blue rim—flashed with intelligence, curiosity, and annoyance.

On the outside, Cole was a good-looking, well-put-together firefighter who had probably started more than a few fires in the hearts of Pine Hill’s female population. Hadn’t she noticed him at the picnic and every time their paths had crossed since?

But now, Sophie knew the heartache his handsome exterior hid.

Catching her not-so-sneaky peek in his direction, Cole’s brow rose. “Did I misunderstand you a minute ago? Are you here to pick something up from me rather than give something back? I told the lady on the phone I’d drop the money for the poinsettias by the nursing home. Did they need the check right away?”

Poinsettias? He was the one who had donated the money to buy the poinsettias for the nursing home residents? She’d heard someone had, but—

Sophie half-tripped over her own feet and almost face-planted on the concrete firehall floor. She steadied herself in time that she didn’t think he noticed her lapse as they stepped outside into the sunshine. Or if he did notice, he didn’t let on.

A soft mid-November breeze blew, tickling her face with her hair.

“I’m not here about the poinsettias or money,” she began, tucking the stray strands behind her ears in hopes of keeping them at bay. “And you didn’t misunderstand me. I found something that belongs to you, and I’m here to return it.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out his journal that had the Christmas card tucked inside it.

“This is yours, isn’t it?”

Cole’s gaze dropped to what Sophie held. A sucker punch rammed into his stomach, knocking his breath out of him and leaving him going-to-retch-his-insides-out nauseated.

He could stare down an enemy holding an AK-47 and not flinch, but the book that Sophie held made his knees weak.

“Where did you get that?” he growled, barely managing not to snatch the book from her hands to hurl it aside, like a grenade that needed to be thrown as far away as possible for everyone’s safety.

For his safety.

Sophie winced. He felt a pang of regret over the harsh tone he’d used, but he couldn’t formulate words to apologize. The beauty from the BBQ had his journal.

“I found it at Pine Hill Church in a box of books.”