Page 67 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
Tears brightened Ruthie’s eyes. “It’s been a long time since I had company to look forward to. Thank you.”
“Then count on it,” Hannah Leigh said. “Turns out I’ll be moving to South Hill, so I’ll need some new friends around here.”
Outside, sunlight spilled across the town as Nate slipped his hand into hers. “You know, I think Ruthie’s right. Maybe this whole town’s been mending itself a little at a time.”
Hannah Leigh nodded, her heart swelling. “And we got to be part of it.”
On Main Street, Birdie waved from the corner, notebook in one hand and cocoa in the other. “Coach. Hannah Leigh. I’m calling itLove Finds Its Way Home.”
“She beat us to the headline again,” Nate said.
“Make sure she spells Ruthie’s name right,” Hannah Leigh called back.
“I wouldn’t dare do otherwise,” Birdie shouted. “Coffee in the morning for quotes?”
“Count on it,” Nate said, giving Hannah Leigh’s hand a squeeze. “Pretty good Christmas, huh?”
“The best,” she said, leaning against him. “Because it wasn’t about what we gave, it was about what we got back.”
The church bells rang, steady and sure, their notes floating over the square like a promise. Hannah Leigh looked up, the sound settling deep in her heart.
Love always finds its way home, just when you’re ready to believe again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Morning broke clear and blue, the sort of day that made South Hill look like it had been polished overnight, every rooftop shining, every breath hanging like steam over a coffee pot. The town stirred awake, chimney smoke curling into the crisp air while children tested the sledding hill again and the Colonial’s long shadow stretched across the square.
Hannah Leigh tugged on wool socks and met Nate behind the theatre. A narrow path wound toward the small pond locals calledWishwater. When the night froze hard enough, the surface turned to glass.
“Ready?” Nate asked, offering his hand.
“As I’ll ever be.” She slipped hers into his.
Aunt Winnie waited nearby with a crate of skates and her ever-present thermos. Birdie balanced a pencil behind her ear. Margaret Jane and the mayor made their careful way down the path, hand in hand, smiling like teenagers caught skipping Sunday school.
Nate knelt to lace Hannah Leigh’s skates. “Tell me if these pinch.”
“They don’t,” she said, with a wiggle of her skate. “I feel…secure.”
“Good word.” He tied the knot snug.
The ice hummed low as they stepped on. She wobbled once, then steadied.
“Look at you,” he teased. “Natural.”
“Do not lie to me, Coach. And don’t you dare let go.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
They circled the pond. Children glided past in bright coats, Birdie lasted three feet before deciding to “cover the event from a sturdy perch,” and Aunt Winnie poured cocoa while callingout, “Keep your knees bent and look where you’re going, not where you’ve been.” Then she winked. “Good rule for life.”
They stayed until their cheeks flushed, and breath misted like ribbons of smoke in the frigid air. Somewhere between laps, Hannah Leigh stopped clutching and simply held his hand. Their fingers fit so easily that everything else steadied.
“Do you ever get tired of this?” she asked.
“Never. When it’s like this, Winter’s just saying ‘don’t wish me away’. There’s beauty right here.”
She smiled. “Keep faith through winter.”
