Page 49 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
He hoped she’d look his way tomorrow with the same certainty.
For now, he sat in the quiet. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself want something he couldn’t fix with tools or plans. Something messy, human, and worth the risk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hannah Leigh woke to the smell of coffee drifting through Aunt Winnie’s house, straight up the narrow stairs to the second-floor guest room. The scent felt like comfort and home rolled into one. The lace curtains breathed with soft winter light, and for the first time in a long while, her mind wasn’t sprinting toward the next deadline or some bigger, shinier goal.
Peace had found her in the night and settled deep.
Clarity, that was the word.
She lay still for a moment, her palm resting over her heart as last night replayed in slow, sharp frames. The beautiful Christmas tree. Feeling the crowd gasp in delight. But mostly the way Nate had looked at her. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to find her, and then the hurt in his eyes when he realized she was thinking about leaving.
She sat up and pulled Aunt Winnie’s old double wedding ring quilt close. The patchwork was soft, even thin in places, worn smooth by decades of love. Her great-grandmother had hand-stitched it for her grandmother and then handed down to Mom. When Mom died, Aunt Winnie took claim, holding it until the day it would pass, like a blessing, to Hannah Leigh on her wedding day.
Hannah Leigh traced the design, remembering how she used to imagine her wedding someday, her own story stitched into those circles.
There’d been a time she thought that would be with Evan. That ended clean, but empty. And now, somehow, she’d gone and broken something new, something real, with Nate.
Was this job worth it? To miss out on something so good for the sake of a title?
Her gaze swept the cozy room, framed cross-stitches, shelves of spiral-bound church cookbooks, an antique brass lamp thatturned the morning golden. Everything here whispered peace and belonging. This trip hadn’t been a visit at all. It had been her fresh start, whether she’d known it or not.
South Hill was steady where she needed grounding, colorful where her life could use some sparkle, and rooted deep enough to make her want to stay.
She wanted that. She wanted to work here, love here, build something lasting. But then there was that other whisper, the lure of “bigger.”
Her mind opened now like a dogwood blossom in spring.
Hannah Leigh Events. “That’s it. The answer.” She grabbed a pen and paper from the nightstand and started writing the ideas that were flooding forth.
A small studio near the square with white-trimmed windows and a brass bell over the door. She could see it clear as day, weddings at the depot, anniversary parties at the Colonial, church socials with thoughtful touches, a harvest dinner on the green come fall. The new Dogwood Hall needed someone to keep things rolling there. Every December, she’d turn the South Hill Hometown Holiday into something folks couldn’t wait for. The Festival of Cheer.
Her grandmother used to say,“You take care where people gather, and they’ll feel taken care of long after they go home.”
Maybe this was my calling all along.
Hannah Leigh leapt out of bed and tugged her favorite magenta sweater on over her pajama pants to go downstairs. The floor squeaked as she followed the aroma of coffee and the sound of Aunt Winnie humming in the kitchen.
“Morning, honey,” Winnie called from the stove. Today’s apron was peppermint striped, faded near the hem where a dozen Christmases had brushed against it. “You want your coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in, or you plan to be gentle with yourself today?”
“Gentle,” Hannah Leigh leaned in to kiss her aunt’s cheek. “And I might need two cups of it.”
Winnie filled the holly mug. The same one Hannah Leigh had picked out at an antique shop when she was six. “You look like a woman with the weight of the world sitting square on her shoulders,” Winnie said. “Coffee won’t fix that.”
“I didn’t sleep much,” Hannah Leigh admitted. “Too many thoughts.”
“Mm-hmm.” Winnie gave her that look that could cut through a fence post. “Thoughts about Charlotte, or thoughts about a certain Collier boy?”
“Both. Maybe neither. I don’t know,” Hannah Leigh said, staring into the coffee.
Her aunt took the chair across from her, hands folded. “You keep thinking your next big thing’s out there somewhere, in a city, a title, a paycheck. Honey, sometimes the thing that matters most is right in front of you.”
“It’s so hard to know what to do.”
“Life isn’t complicated,” said Aunt Winnie. “People make it complicated.”
Hannah Leigh smiled faintly. “You’re right. I was just saying that about the mayor and Margaret Jane. Sometimes the truth hurts, but it heals too. Guess I should take my own advice.”
