Page 34 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“She was,” he said after a moment. “Maybe sometimes people simply run out of time.”
“We’re never guaranteed a tomorrow.” She looked at him then, really looked, and something unspoken flickered in her eyes. He glanced away first, pretending to adjust his scarf.
“We should visit her again,” she breathed. “Gloria mentioned she doesn’t get many visitors.”
“I was thinking the same thing. We will,” he promised. “I think she’d like that.”
They walked toward his truck, boots crunching on the frosted gravel. Hannah Leigh broke the silence. “Let’s go harvest theLove Left Behindboard and see what we can find about that other note. The one in block letters. I don’t think it’s connected to Ruthie, but something about it keeps bugging me.”
Nate shot her a curious look. “Bugging you how?”
She hesitated, frowning a little. “I can’t explain it. Just a feeling like whoever wrote it wasn’t leaving a memory. They were trying to be found.”
Back in South Hill, they were reading letters on theLove Left Behindboard when Birdie appeared, wearing a Santa hat that had seen better days and clutching a bag of pralines to sell. “Well, don’t y’all look like you’ve just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past,” she said cheerfully. “If he’s headed to the Colonial tonight, he’d better have tickets, because it’s a sell-out!”
Nate let out a quick, amused huff. “We’ll let him know.”
Hannah Leigh nudged him. “Don’t you go inviting ghosts.”
He lifted his arms in another over-the-top ghostly shiver, the sound of her laugh exactly what he’d been aiming for.
Nate pulled into the lot beside her car and shifted into park. “Well,” he said, glancing her way, “guess this is you.”
“Guess so.” She smiled, that tired-but-happy kind that always tugged at him.
He walked her to her car, watching her fumble for her keys. “You sure you’re good to drive?”
“Promise.” She opened the door, the cold air curling around them.
“Alright then.” He hesitated, not wanting the night to end. “Goodnight, Hannah Leigh.”
“Goodnight, Nate.” She hurried toward the shop door, her determined stride as familiar as it was endearing.
He stood there a moment longer, hands in his pockets, before climbing back into his truck. He started the engine, but didn’t pull out right away—just watched the light flick on inside as she disappeared through the door, and thought maybe heading home could wait a minute.
Ruthie’s story had settled deep in him. It stuck with him. Echoing like a song you thought you’d forgotten but somehow still knew every word to.
He parked on Main Street. The December air carried the faint scent of popcorn, where they were probably popping it by the bucketful to prepare for the movie tonight.
South Hill still carried a certain amount of small-town charm that he hoped would never change. He strolled down the street, taking the time to really look at all the decorations the merchants had worked so hard on. The judging would happen right after the Christmas tree lighting. Last year’s People’s Choice Winner was still his favorite though. It would be hard to beat. The local State Farm agency decorated a pole in sparkly garland, then tilted a kids’ plastic ride-on car against it as if it had crashed. Sort of a playful public service announcement with a reminder not to let the pretty lights distract you.
Across the street, the lampposts glimmered under their garlands, each one part of the annual decorating contest. Stockings, grinches, and angels decorated the scene. In front of the fire station, they’d arranged a red fire hose into a Christmas tree shape, topped with the Company 7 South Hill Volunteer Fire Department logo.
These folks had really upped their game since last year. He couldn’t help but grin as he passed Graham Hardware’s entry. A wreath made from coiled extension cords and copper wire, above an artificial tree zip-tied to the lamppost that had paintbrushes, tape measures and nuts and bolts all sparkling with glitter for ornaments. Half hardware, half-holiday magic.
Lundy Lane sponsored one lamppost too. Farmhouse garland made entirely out of vintage flannel shirts.Now that’s clever.He tugged on his own flannel collar with a quiet chuckle, thinking he could’ve donated a few old ones for the cause.
Harper’s Jewelry trimmed the lamppost in front of their storefront in white and gold to match their display window which always shimmered with real gems and jewels. But for the holidays, a single velvet box with an heirloom ring shone beneath a halo of twinkle lights. Inside, a framed photo of Sandra and her granddaughter, Victoria, stood side by side wearing Santa hats. It reminded him what family legacy really looked like. Their lamppost was tastefully simple and elegant.
Victoria walked out just as he passed by.
“If there’s any justice this Christmas,” he murmured, “that lamppost’s takin’ home the blue ribbon.”
Victoria waved, grinning. “It’s not about winning, Coach. We just hope to out-sparkle them all!”
“In that case, mission accomplished.” He gave her a thumbs up.
For a moment, he stood there, breathing in the town's life. The sound of the carolers warming up over in the pavilion, the faint jingle of the coffee shop bell, the sound of a train horn off in the distance. It was all so ordinary, and yet something about it felt like a reminder. That life, even in its quietest hours, had a way of circling back to unfinished business.
