Page 40 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“This is great,” she said. “More than I could’ve hoped for.”
“No.” Nate gave her a nod and then stepped up to the snowball game, paid his ticket, and fired off three perfect throws in a row. “That’s what you call great.”
She jumped up and hugged him. “That is great.”
Nate held on to her an extra second until the attendant handed him a glittering snow globe with a miniature dogwood tree inside. Nate held it out like a trophy. “Told you I could win you one.”
She shook her head. “Show-off.”
“It’s for you,” he said, but as she reached for it, something over his shoulder made her pause. The smile faded from her lips.
“What is it?” he asked, turning slightly.
Hannah Leigh pointed back toward the courtyard. A few townspeople gathered around the Love Left Behind Board, whispering. Among them stood the mayor, arms crossed tight, frown etched deep as he stared at the notes.
Nate followed her gaze. “Are you looking at Uncle Clarence? Does he—”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “He looks like a man who just read something he wishes he hadn’t.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hannah Leigh was now convinced that South Hill had invented its own definition of the word “busy.”
It wasn’t just full calendars or long lists of chores. Busy in South Hill during December was a kind of glittering, jingle-belled, praline-scented whirlwind that never slowed down.
By the time Saturday dawned, Hannah Leigh had already sprinted across the town square twice. Once to check on the cookie contest table and once to referee an argument between the brass band and the carolers about who got the prime spot outside Bringleton’s. Both sides claimed tradition, and both had Birdie whispering in their ears like an ornamented devil on each shoulder.
Now, standing in the middle of Main Street with her scarf trailing and her phone buzzing in her coat pocket, Hannah Leigh felt like the whole town was holding its breath before the curtain rose on opening day of the Hometown Holiday Festival.
And if something went wrong, all fingers would point at her, and she couldn’t let Aunt Winnie down like that.
Across the way, the craft tent was already humming when she ducked inside. The air was thick with the smell of glue sticks and cinnamon, children’s giggles bubbling like sleigh bells as they clutched paintbrushes and glitter shakers. At least a dozen kids crowded around long tables, turning paper plates into reindeer masks and pinecones into glittery little angels with crooked halos.
“About time you showed,” Nate called from the far end. Rolled sleeves, sawdust still clinging to his boots, he looked like he’d stepped straight off a project site into Santa’s workshop.
Hannah Leigh pushed her hair off her face. “Don’t start. I’ve been putting out tinsel fires all morning.”
“Literal fires?” He arched a brow.
She shot him a look. “Yes. Someone’s hot glue gun melted a pile of garland.”
Nate chuckled, low and warm, and handed her a pair of scissors. “I can see the headline now. South Hill fires Christmas.”
“Don’t tempt fate,” she said, sliding into place beside him. “Thanks for coming to help.” Their arms brushed as they leaned over the same pile of construction paper, and for a second, the room felt smaller. Warmer.
He passed her a mason jar of glitter. “Here. Supervise. I’ll wrangle the paint.”
She lifted the jar. “Supervise? Have you seen what happens when I supervise? Glitter ends up in people’s hair for weeks.”
“That’s half the point.”
They worked on crafts until the top of the hour when parents began showing up to whisk the kids off to the next thing.
“I think our work here is done,” she said. “That went pretty well.”
“Guess we make a good team.” Nate swept glitter from her sleeve.
“Except for the glitter tattoo,” she teased, lifting her forearm to show off a line of glitter. “I warned you I’m glitter intolerant.”
