Page 57 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
The laughter rolled through the square, even over the mayor’s mic tap.
“South Hill sure knows how to put on a show,” Hannah Leigh said.
“Guess even the dogs have Christmas spirit,” Nate replied, hands in pockets, grin easy.
They wandered, the band playing something upbeat.
Birdie elbowed Hannah Leigh. “Need a line for tomorrow’s column—something that makes folks smile first, then reach for a tissue.”
“Ask Aunt Winnie,” Hannah Leigh said.
Birdie pivoted in a wink.
Aunt Winnie, ever ready, lifted her thermos. “Put this down: South Hill doesn’t run on cocoa and lights. We run on folks who show up. We run on second chances.” She paused, grinning. “But if you want to bring me cocoa, I won’t say no.”
“Perfect,” Birdie said, scribbling.
The choir sang out the words toFrosty the Snowman. Children twirled in puffer coats. The LOVE sign blinked for another camera flash. A granddad dabbed his eyes and pretended it was the cold.
Nate turned Hannah Leigh by the fingertips. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she responded with a bit of surprise. “For the first time in a long, I really am.”
He smiled. “This feels so good.” She leaned into him, their breaths mingling in the crisp night.
Aunt Winnie raised her thermos. “To second chances,” she toasted.
“Seconded,” Nate called, and voices around them echoed the words.
The lights brightened one final notch. Birdie’s pencil danced, cocoa flowed, and George the Shih Tzu strutted proudly in his single antler.
South Hill had come alive again. With lights, love, laughter, this time, it felt like it might just stay that way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The festival was in the rearview, and the staff at the Chamber of Commerce had shifted from spectacle to cleanup. Paper cutters snapped, tape dispensers zipped, phones trilled under a hum of carols from the little radio in the window. Aunt Winnie’s pink clipboard tapped time like a metronome. At the end of the conference table, Hannah Leigh tied red bows on each gift as if she could tuck a good thought right into the knot.
A knock rattled the back door.
“I’ve got it,” Aunt Winnie sang, sweeping it open.
Cold air barreled in, but it was the high-dollar city cologne that grabbed Hannah Leigh’s attention. And her senses hadn’t lied. Evan Morton stood on the stoop in a fine wool coat, a glossy bakery bag slung from his wrist like an accessory.
“Hannah Leigh,” he said, looking right past Aunt Winnie with a practiced smile. “Got a minute?”
Aunt Winnie’s eyes flicked from him to Hannah Leigh and back again. “I’ll just go check on Project Deviled Egg,” Aunt Winnie said, patting her apron pocket like it held classified information. Hannah Leigh caught the grin and knew her aunt wasn’t going anywhere far.
Hannah Leigh set down the bow. “What are you doing here?”
“Client meeting at Lake Gaston.” He held up the bag like a peace flag. “I brought macarons. Figured your office would only have the cookies with the colored icing on them. You deserve something with a little city flair.”
“I like the homemade touches around here,” she said. It was the easiest truth in reach. “It’s the week before Christmas.”
“I’m well aware of that. Couldn’t forget it if you wanted to around here, could you?” His gaze skimmed the holiday décor, mismatched mugs, and the clipboard lists taped everywhere. He smiled in a way that said charming and childish at the sametime, like he was admiring a kid’s fort. “You look good,” he added. “Enjoying the season so far?”
“I am,” she said, surprised by how simple that felt on her tongue.
“Listen.” He lowered his voice. “About D.C. I’m sorry. I handled things badly. I panicked. But a lot’s changed. We landed the river redevelopment, and I told the team I know the perfect person to lead the launch. Creative director. Your name’s already on the shortlist. A proper title. Real money.” He motioned toward the space, eyes narrowing as he took it all in, unimpressed. “This is charming, but you’re bigger than this.”
