Page 28 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
Nate grinned. “You’re wound as tight as a box of new Christmas lights.” He locked the door.
She laughed a little too quickly. “Let’s hope we don’t short out.” Truth was, she could feel the tension buzzing under her skin. The kind that came from too much thinking and not enough breathing.
Then fate, or maybe it was karma that rolled in, quite literally.
A blow-up snowman broke free from a yard display and came barreling across the sidewalk like a jolly tumbleweed. Nate lunged, missed by an inch, and Hannah Leigh caught the full brunt of its inflatable cheer.
She yelped as the snowman’s puffy arms wrapped around her, sending her backward onto the damp ground with a soft thud. For a second, she sat there, tangled in white nylon and blinking up at the swirling flakes.
Nate raced over to help her up. “Are you okay?”
She brushed snow from her sleeve, half laughing herself. “Sure. Wrestling snowmen beside the maybe-haunted post office. Just another Tuesday in South Hill.”
“Wednesday,” he said, grinning.
Her eyes widened. “Then I’ve officially lost a day. That was one serious snowman roll.”
Amusement flickered in his brown eyes. When he offered his hand, she took it—and felt her pulse skip.
For a heartbeat, the rest of the world fell away as if the snow, the street, even the ridiculous snowman deflating behind them. He looked at her like he sawher, not the version she tried to hold together for everyone else. And in that quiet, unexpected way, she felt seen.
“What’s that look mean?” he asked, grinning.
“Nothing,” she blurted. “Like you just rescued me from a runaway snowman.”
“Yeah,” he said with a teasing tilt of his head. “That’s me. Your knight in Christmas flannel.”
“Maybe something doesn’t want us unraveling this mystery,” she said, smiling despite herself. His grin sent her insides tumbling again.
“Just one more reason not to give up,” he said.
As they stepped into the chill night, snow whispering underfoot, the air felt thick with untold stories. Ruthie’s, maybe the mayor’s, and perhaps her own. Each waiting for its turn to find a happy ending.
He drove her back to hercar, and there wasn’t a word between them. “Here you go.”
She climbed out then leaned in, her elbows on the seat. “I enjoyed getting to know you, I mean who you are now, and seeing where and how you live. It was a really good day.”
“I’m looking forward to another one just like it tomorrow. Well, without the ghosts or runaway snowman.”
“Deal.” She watched him drive off, then tried to pull herself together to go back inside the Chamber of Commerce office to help Aunt Winnie with the challenge of the day. Turned out, she’d missed the tinsel garland getting sucked into the copy machineandAunt Winnie catching Birdie trying to fix the shorted snowflake-shaped lights with a butter knife. Typical South Hill chaos. But somehow, they’d smoothed it all out and still made it home in time for a decent dinner before bedtime.
That night, long after she’d washed the dust from her hands and crawled into bed, Hannah Leigh couldn’t stop thinking about those letters, or about Nate.
The way he’d handled each fragile envelope with such care, like every word mattered. The way his laughter had filled that drafty old post office until it didn’t feel spooky anymore.
She told herself she’d come home to South Hill for a reset, not a rerun of her heart. But as she stared up at the ceiling, she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe the past wasn’t the only thing waiting to be found here.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Hannah Leigh stepped outside, it was like walking into a Christmas postcard. Flurries danced around them, dusting the nativity display in front of the bank and catching on her eyelashes with a tickle. The lamppost outside Harper's Jewelry wore a hand-knitted scarf and a big silver bow, and someone had tucked tiny stockings along the base, each with a handwritten name.
In the jewelry store window, warm white lights framed a single velvet box holding an antique ring that looked like it carried a century’s worth of love stories. Hannah Leigh’s heart pulsed with that hopeful, irritating ache that always snuck up on her this time of year.
Of course, that was when Aunt Winnie pulled up in her bright red convertible, top down, tartan cape trailing behind her like a Christmas banner.
“There she is!” Winnie hollered, climbing out with flair.
Hannah Leigh gaped. “What on earth are you doing driving that thing in this weather? You know Uncle Skip would be in a tizzy! He’s got to be rolling over in his grave.”
