Page 7 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“I’m ready for him,” Aunt Winnie said.
Birdie leaned in and stage-whispered, “That man has the personality of last year’s Christmas tree. Dry, prickly, and shedding needles where nobody wants ’em.”
Hannah Leigh stifled a laugh.
“I figured I’d drop by, lend a hand, offer unsolicited commentary, and refill my cocoa tub.” Birdie’s energy was boundless. “Lord knows those girls in the coffee shop give me the ‘ma’am limit’ after noon.”
She dropped into a folding chair beside the supply bins, pulled out a mint from her purse, and began humming.
And just like that,Birdie Horn was officially on site.
“Did anyone tell you we’re bringing back Minnie Pearl’s Pralines?” Birdie said before either woman could speak. “And mercy, they finally fixed the lights on the Colonial marquee. Took a hundred years and a box of spare bulbs, but hallelujah, she’s glowing again like the good old days.”
“That’s a long time, but the theater looks better than I remember.”
“Which, by the way,” Birdie said, “is about as long as it seems since I’ve seen you around here. About time you came back. Good timing, too.We’re stirring up a blizzard of Christmas cheer around here.”
As Birdie bustled off, Hannah Leigh lingered on the sidewalk a moment longer. The LOVE sign stirred a rush of memories. It surprised her Aunt Winnie hadn’t already dressed it in garlandand lights. She might slip back afterward and do a little magic on the sign after Aunt Winnie goes to sleep to surprise her.
Looking down the block, she watched Main Street brighten as each shop window lit up with its own unique style, the combined lights stitching the pavement into a holiday quilt.
At long last, a gentle certainty settled in her chest. She belonged here. It felt as if the town itself was wrapping her in a warm welcome and quietly saving a few surprises just for her.
CHAPTER FIVE
If you wanted to find the heart of South Hill on any morning, Nate Collier knew you started at Bringleton’s, where the coffee came in thirty-two-ounce buckets big enough to warm your soul and half your extended family. And if he timed it right, like he did today, he could swing by The Doughnut Den first for a cinnamon twist the size of a flashlight, perfect for dunking.
The bag dangled from his hand as he walked down Main Street, impressed by all the changes that seemed to have happened overnight. Wreaths crowned lampposts to Graham Hardware, garland linked storefronts, and if he knew Birdie Horn, those candy-cane zip ties on the trash cans had her fingerprints all over them.
He rarely got to Bringleton’s this early, but the day had started with an itch he couldn’t name. It was the kind that made a man reach for caffeine and an empty seat by a window simply to think, and this was the place.
Cinnamon from the paper bag wafted into the air as he pushed the glass door open. The familiar jingle welcomed him like an old friend.
Nodding to the regulars already lined up along the counter, he waited for his turn to order his coffee.
He claimed his usual seat by the window and pulled the cinnamon roll from the pastry bag. One generous bite, a long sip of coffee, and the world slowed enough for him to scroll through his phone for the project updates from his crew. The old Safeway conversion was ahead of schedule; the Town Hall remodel, thanks to the mayor’s ever-shifting list of “must-haves,” was another story.
The bell jingled again, capturing his attention, but he didn’t even have to look up to recognize the familiar shuffle of his uncle’s boots.
Speak of the devil.
Mayor Clarence Collier, his uncle, grumbled a good morning to the barista and ordered a double shot of espresso. Black, no fuss.
“Morning, Nate.” Clarence took the espresso, making himself at home in the chair across from him.
“Have a seat.” It was a smart-aleck response, but Uncle Clarence had a way of inserting himself. “Didn’t expect to see you in here before eight,” Nate said, offering a half-smile.
“I had insider information that the first praline batch was coming out of the oven this morning.” He glanced at his watch, tapping its face, “…right about now. Figured I’d snag a couple before Birdie cleared the entire tray.”
Nate huffed a laugh. “Smart man.”
They lapsed into silence, the kind that settled between folks who didn’t need to fill every second with words. Nate took a sip of his coffee and glanced out the window. An SUV eased to the curb, and he’d recognize the silhouette of the driver anywhere.
Hannah Leigh Parker? Lord have mercy.
She stepped out, all bundled up in a cranberry red coat, scarf loose around her neck, her cheeks pink from the cold. She waved to someone across the street and ducked into the jewelry store.
Something outside drew Clarence’s eye, his expression shifting. “Would you look there? That’s—”
