Page 50 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“Advice is always easier to dole out, then to take.” Winnie slid a pan of biscuits from the oven. “Christmas has a way of slowing us down long enough to see what’s been good all along,” she said. “Gratitude goes a long way. It makes room for what’s true, if we let our hearts stay tender.”
Hannah Leigh breathed deep. Butter, coffee, grace, it all mixed into something that steadied her. “Maybe that’s all we really need,” she said. “A little grace, a few twinkle lights, and a warm biscuit.”
“Now that’s a sermon worth preaching.” Winnie brushed a streak of flour from her apron. “Go on and eat before you run yourself ragged. Big day ahead.”
Hannah Leigh broke open a biscuit, steam curling up. “You heading over to the festival now?”
“Soon as I pack up these cookies for the church breakfast,” Winnie said. “Your mom would’ve been real proud of you last night, you know.”
“I sure hope so,” Hannah Leigh whispered. “Because I think I owe someone an apology before I face anyone else.”
Winnie arched an eyebrow. “Then don’t waste daylight, honey. Go find your peace.”
The streets were quieter that morning, the square soft and still after the night’s excitement. A few volunteers were sweeping confetti and stacking empty cocoa cups from last night. The big evergreen was dim in the daylight but beautiful all the same.
Hannah Leigh paused, tucking her hands in her coat pockets. She could still hear Nate’s voice. He was still gentle and caring, despite the disappointment.
His words played in her mind.“I wish you’d looked at me once the way you looked at that tree.”How could I have let him doubt he makes me shine more than the brightest Christmas tree?
She reached into her pocket and brushed her thumb over the small carved dogwood he’d made for her, the one that saidWork your magic.
That man had a way of seeing right through her armor and into the parts she tried to keep safe.
She drew a deep breath. No more running. No more chasing what didn’t fit.
Driving back to Aunt Winnie’s house, Hannah Leigh promised herself she wouldnotconfuse busy with purposeany longer.I’m done pretending my heart doesn’t know where home is.She knew exactly where she needed to be.
Aunt Winnie’s car was gone when Hannah Leigh pulled into the driveway, so she hurried inside to freshen up, her pulse tapping faster than her steps. She’d make things right. Not through grand speeches or teary promises, but through honesty. That’s what Nate deserved.
She’d find him at the festival site or at the Colonial Theater, helping the Chamber of Commerce volunteers. Maybe she’d start with,“You were right. I was scared. But you’re what makes this place home.”
She smiled, the thought warming her from the inside out.
Pausing by the doorway, she glanced back at the quilt draped over the bed, the sunlight catching its rings. That quilt wasn’t about weddings or endings. It was about endurance, love that lasts through generations, stitched one small piece at a time.
Maybe her story wasn’t falling apart. Maybe it was just beginning.
Hannah Leigh poured the last of her coffee into a travel mug and slipped on her coat. She stepped outside into the crisp morning, the faint sounds of the festival coming to life in the distance.
“Work your magic,” she whispered, fingers brushing the carved wooden dogwood in her pocket again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Hannah Leigh eased through the back door of First Baptist’s fellowship hall. White cloths, red runners, pine in mason jars turned the long room warm and welcoming. The air carried the comfort of a hundred voices, babies fussing, the clink and rattle of dishes.
Aunt Winnie had given her a mission today. Collect recipes for the church’s cookbook fundraiser they’d be working on this year. She had her phone ready to record and a pad for notes tucked in her pocket.
It was called the Christmas Tidings Breakfast, but it was brunch, and it smelled like a holiday miracle. Peppery fried chicken. A glazed ham shining like an apple in the sun. Collards with a whisper of vinegar and salt pork. Buttered corn. The fragrant sage dressing. Sweet potatoes topped with candied pecans. A pot of Brunswick stew that made her close her eyes and give thanks. Deviled eggs in straight rows, dusted with paprika. Baskets of yeast rolls brushed with butter until they glistened like the angel on the town tree.
Hannah Leigh had just reached for a plate when she saw Nate at a table with the historical society ladies. This was her chance. She slid her fingers around the dogwood charm in her pocket.Don’t let me down.Then, she took a big breath and made a beeline for Nate.
“Excuse me,” she said, steady and polite. “Good morning. Nate, could I steal you a minute?”
He looked up. Careful, but kind. He folded his napkin. “Sure. Y’all guard my plate,” he told the ladies, and managed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
They stepped into the hallway, where it was quieter.
“Thanks,” she said, wringing her hands, then releasing them. “Sorry to interrupt.”
