Page 58 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
The bell over the front door chimed when Nate stepped in with a box of wreath hooks, boots dusted, hair wind-stirred.
He zeroed in on Evan, the bag, and Hannah Leigh in a single exhale. Something in his jaw went still. He set the hooks down as if they weighed more than metal.
Evan kept talking, oblivious. “Come back with me. We’ll put you where you belong.”
Hannah Leigh felt the old ache. The one that came from being treated like an asset instead of a person. She opened her mouth, but Nate lifted a hand first, quiet and careful.
“I’ll be in the storage room,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.
“Nate—”
He’d already turned down the hall.
Aunt Winnie reappeared with two steaming cups of cocoa and a smile that said she could turn this whole moment into compost with five minutes and a shovel. Birdie hovered behind her like a decorative exclamation point.
Hannah Leigh took a breath and faced the past. “Evan, thank you for considering me for that job. And for the macarons. But I’m not going back.”
He blinked, surprise cracking the polish. “You haven’t even heard the numbers.”
“It isn’t about numbers,” she said. “It’s about trust. Fit. Home.”
“We built a life there,” he tried again, gentler.
“No, I built arésuméthere,” she said. “I’m building a life here.”
Something in his expression cooled. “This town will box you in.”
“This town brought me back to myself.”
Silence fell, clean as winter air.
Aunt Winnie pressed a warm cup into Hannah Leigh’s hands. “Cocoa?”
Evan smoothed his cuff. “I should go.”
“You should,” Birdie chirped. “Traffic on 58’s a bear after three.” Then, faster than a hummingbird, she snapped a photo. “For my files. I’m with the paper.”
Evan nodded toward Hannah Leigh. “Good luck.” His gaze flicked over the framed photos of past festivals and handwritten thank-you notes tacked to the corkboard, his mouth twisting like everything was quaint in the worst way. Without another word, he turned and walked out.
The room exhaled.
Aunt Winnie’s hand rested warm between HannahLeigh’s shoulders. “You all right, honey?”
“I will be,” she said. Then, steadier: “I am.”
Birdie tipped the blinds. “Don’t dawdle. Nate headed toward the Dogwood Hall.”
Hannah Leigh didn’t need directions. She set the macarons on the counter, grabbed her coat, and hurried for the door.
“Bring him back,” Aunt Winnie called. “I’ve got a wreath that needs two sets of hands.”
“And I want a quote for theEnterprise,” Birdie added. “Something swoony.”
“Birdie,” Winnie warned, but she was smiling.
Twilight laid a soft gold on Main. She moved briskly down the sidewalk, pushed purely by adrenaline. She ran the last few yards toward the building. TheMeet Me at the Dogwoodsign made her heart hiccup. Moments she and Nate had spent looking at the letters and notes posted there flooded back. The way his hand first brushed hers, and she that zing raced through her. The one she tried to ignore but couldn’t.
Nate stood a few paces off, hands in his pockets, staring at the dogwood, looking like a man arguing with himself and losing politely.
