Wrapped Up in Christmas Joy

“Some do.” Her tone said she couldn’t imagine why. “But cutting material can be tedious work, so our precut packages sell well. Plus, our dies cut precise shapes and patterns. A buyer doesn’t have to worry about mis-cut pieces throwing off the pattern and things not lining up properly. Prec

ision cutting is everything in quilting.” Pausing her activity, she glanced his way. The earlier uncertainty from her gaze was gone, replaced by an excitement for her subject. Her face practically glowed as she added, “For the quilt kits, I color-coordinate everything, package the precut pieces with step-by-step directions, and include everything to make the quilt top. A customer has the option to include material for the back of the quilt, batting and thread. They can opt out if they already have their own, or want to choose something different, but for those who want a full kit, we make it easy by putting it all together.”

She barely took a breath the whole time she talked.

“Seems to me,” he began, “that if someone was going to buy all that done by someone else, they’d just buy a premade quilt and save themselves even more time.”

Sophie gave him a horrified look. “Why would they do that?”

Cole eyed her at her total bewilderment. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Because quilting is fun, brings people together, and is a useful work of art,” she defended, her hands going to her hips.

“Artwork even when everything is precut?”

“A painter may purchase paint in various shades rather than mixing his own, but that doesn’t make him any less the artist when he puts all those premixed colors on a canvas.”

Not quite sure he followed her explanation, Cole just shrugged. “If you say so. Cut your strips so we can get to our toy drive business.”

She glanced back at the bolt of fabric she’d been working with. “In a hurry to get started?”

“In a hurry to get finished,” he corrected, looking at his watch.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.” Her gaze flickered to him and she flashed one of her full-dimpled smiles. “We have that friendly competition to win.”

Cole shouldn’t have tossed out the challenge to his friends but at least it had diverted them from their matchmaking teasing—for the moment, anyway.

“Finish your strips,” he repeated. “I’ll wait outside.”

Giving him one last curious look, she nodded and went back to cutting her material.

Rather than leave, as he should have, Cole watched her mumble to herself while making quick work of the bolt of fabric she sliced and diced into nine-and-a-quarter-inch wide strips. When she’d unwound the final bit from the cardboard base, she made one last swipe of her rotary cutter, folded the fabric, then placed it on top of her stack. She jotted a note on a small piece of paper and pinned it to the leftover material, giving the size of the remnant.

“I thought you were going to wait outside,” she remarked when she turned to face him. Her eyes glittered as if his having stayed amused her, but he could tell she was still trying to decide how to take him, too.

“So did I,” he admitted, surprised he hadn’t escaped the shop immediately at the first opportunity. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. “What is it you’re going to do with those strips you cut?”

Giving him another full-on I’m-so-glad-you-asked smile, she picked up the stack of strips.

“It’s easier to show you. Follow me.” She walked over to a machine that wasn’t much bigger than a computer printer. Folding one of the strips back and forth over a die, she layered it multiple times, placed a rubber mat on top of the fabric, then pressed a button that pulled the fabric sandwich through the machine. Once it had reappeared on the other side, she lifted the mat, pulled away a tiny scrap of excess material, then showed him perfectly cut four-and-a-half-inch squares.

“Impressive.”

“And a lot faster and more accurate than cutting them by hand with a rotary tool. That just made twenty-four squares.”

“I’m not so sure it would have taken you any longer to cut it all out yourself. I’ve seen you with that rotary cutter.”

Her eyes danced with delight at his comment, causing Cole to plant his feet to the ground to keep them from stepping back. She tossed the excess bits of scrap material into a cloth bag attached to the end of the table.

He asked her, “How good are you at Santa suit repairs?”

Her gaze lifted to his. “Excellent. You know someone needing longer sleeves and an adjustment to the pants hemline?”

“I might,” he admitted.

She eyed him up and down, then spouted off some numbers.

“What’s that?”