Page 64 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
Later, he asked Hannah Leigh to take a walk. They bundled in coats and scarves and headed outside. The air was crisp, and the snow sparkled, but the best part was the cheerful conversations in the air as kids tried out their new Santa gifts for the first time.
They wandered, and as usual ended up at the old dogwood tree.
“How do we always end up back here?” she teased.
He shrugged. “Remembering where we had that first spark. It’s sort of our place.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” She stepped over, smiling, and tugging on his hand when she noticed, beneath its snow-laced branches, sat a new bench, simple and sturdy, carved from polished walnut.
“This is new,” she said. “It wasn’t here yesterday, was it?”
“Nope.”
Hannah Leigh brushed the snow from the brass plate and read the inscription aloud:
To the stories that waited,
and the hearts that came home.
Her breath caught. “You made this? Am I that heart?”
“The most special one.” Nate nodded. “Seemed right to give the town a new story to tell.”
She looked up at him, eyes bright with something that went deeper than gratitude. “And us?”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Pretty sure we’re a permanent part of it now.”
They stood beneath the dogwood, the same tree that had once held secrets and heartbreak for many others, now crowned with snow and promise.
Hannah Leigh leaned into him. “You know,” she said softly, “I never need to be anywhere else.”
Nate pressed a kiss to her hair. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I was looking forward to a lifetime of days with you.” His chest finally unclenched, ready to meet the day with openness instead of ache.
South Hill stirred awake to another Christmas morning, one filled with faith, joy, and love that didn’t need grand gestures to last.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The world had gone still overnight, as if holding its breath after so much delight. This morning, a veil of frost had touched everything in sight.
Hannah Leigh and Nate carried Aunt Winnie’s peppermint bark through town, handing out small baggies to neighbors as they walked by. The shops were closed so families could enjoy Christmas together, and Main Street had turned into a playground. Sleds, snowballs, and rosy cheeks, completed a town-wide pause that felt like peace.
Every few steps, someone accepted a bag with a cheerful thank-you.
“Remind me to thank your aunt again,” Nate said, shifting the bag. “If I turn into a candy cane from all this bark, it’ll be her fault.”
“She’ll just call you festive and hand you another tin,” Hannah Leigh said with a grin.“Resistance is useless.”
They passed Bringleton’s, where a chalkboard promised one last cocoa flight before closing for the holiday. Mr. Bringleton leaned against the doorway in a red sweater with a leaping reindeer and called, “Tell me you brought that new whistle, Coach!”
Nate patted his coat pocket. “Wouldn’t leave home without it.” He glanced at Hannah Leigh, with an amused look. “How did he even know about that?”
She shrugged. “He was standing right there when I bought the whistle at the antique shop. Small towns don’t keep secrets.”
Bringleton tipped his mug toward them. “Now go keep the sledding hill from turning into a traffic jam, and the cocoa is on me.”
“Deal.” Nate and Hannah Leigh headed toward the hill. Children zoomed past on sleds and saucers, their squeals ofdelight bright in the cold air. Parents cheered from the sidelines, bundled up with hearts lighter than yesterday.
At the top, Mayor Collier stood beside Margaret Jane, clutching the rope tied to their sled as though it might bite him.
