Page 59 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“If you’re about to apologize for something you didn’t do,” Hannah Leigh said as she crossed the grass, “save us both the trouble.”
He looked over, steady but guarded. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t.” She stopped close enough to see the flecks in his eyes. “But I want to give you one.”
He stayed quiet. She could hear the quiet yes within the silence.
“Evan is my past,” she said. “I thanked him for the offer and told him no. I chose here.” Her fingers found his. “I choose you.”
The words opened the space between them like a window in a warm room.
Nate’s shoulders eased. “I only heard the part where he asked you to go back.”
“Then hear this part, too.” She squeezed his hand. “South Hill is home. You’re home. I will choose you every single day.”
He blew out a breath that sounded like relief braided with hope. “All right, then.”
A horse-drawn carriage jingled by on the street, bells tossing in bright agreement. The lights strung along the branches blinked as if they approved.
“Also,” she said, tipping her tone toward playful, “Birdie wants a quote for her column.”
“Oh, she’ll get one,” he murmured, tugging her closer. “But she might have to work for it.”
Hannah Leigh nuzzled in closer. “Think she’ll accept ‘no comment’?”
“Not a chance.”
His kiss was soft and certain, not a scene-stealer, but clearly a promise intended to be kept. When they separated, the stars showed off as the sky darkened above them.
“Ready to finish bows before Winnie tracks us down with that clipboard?” she asked.
“With pleasure.” He threaded their fingers. “Let’s go build something that matters.”
The little sign by the dogwood shone like it understood: some stories find their way home as they turned to walk back to the office.
Back at the Chamber office, Birdie had moved the macarons to a pedestal plate and labeled them with a card that read,
“Fancy Cookies. May Cause Bad Attitude.”
Aunt Winnie stood by a wreath that could’ve anchored a schooner.
“Good,” Winnie said when Hannah Leigh and Nate walked in together. “We’ve got twelve minutes and a long run of banister.” Her gaze flicked between them, satisfied. “And look at that. Y’all are already holding hands. Saves me a speech.”
“Don’t think we’ll be needing any of those, Winnie.” Nate reached for the behemoth wreath. “Where do you want it?”
“Top of the stairs,” said Aunt Winnie. “And somebody hand me the zip ties before I resort to duct tape and scandalize the Historical Society…again.”
He trotted up with the wreath. Hannah Leigh followed, and they worked with the ease they’d been learning. Nate anchoring, Hannah Leigh fanning ribbon, both of them adjusting balance until the whole thing sat right. It felt like practice for something larger: the give and take, the way one person steadied while the other made it pretty; how both roles mattered, equally and always.
From below, Birdie called, “Are we pro-bow or anti-bow on the end cap?”
“Pro-bow,” Aunt Winnie and Hannah Leigh said in unison.
“Put that in your column,” Winnie added.“South Hill: Bold on bows, stingy on drama.”
Birdie made a delighted sound. “Keep talking.”
They finished the banister, then moved to the front table, where a pile of clipboards remained to be put in order. Nate straightened them while Hannah Leigh tucked a sprig of cedar under the top clip of each. It was nothing and everything, order and kindness in the same sweep.
