Page 8 of A South Hill Christmas Keepsake
“Hannah Leigh,” Nate finished. She hadn’t changed much. That same easy, sunlit smile, but she carried herself differently, more sure, more herself. He remembered the way she used to tuck straight hair behind her ear when she got nervous—always tidy, always in control. Now it fell longer and freer, loose curls past her shoulders like she’d allowed herself to let loose a little. The light caught on those chestnut strands, and for a second, it hit him how much growing up they’d both done.
Clarence raised one brow. “Well, I’ll be.”
Nate didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The mayor was quite aware of Nate’s high school crush on that girl. The whole town probably remembered it, even though it had been so many years ago. “Yeah, it’s been a minute since she’s been around here.”
“She has that big job up in D.C.. I heard her aunt roped her into helping with the Chamber of Commerce Christmas festivities this year,” Clarence added. “She’s back for the holidays.”
Nate sipped his coffee, hiding the sudden jolt.
Clarence took a sip of his espresso and leaned in, lowering his voice. “With the Hometown Holiday Festival kicking off, we’ll need every garland and wreath we can find. Winnie has already asked that I volunteer you to help with setup. Of course, I told her you’d be happy to do it.”
His uncle was always quick to volunteer him. It would be nice if he’d at least once asked. “Let me guess. Hannah Leigh’s helping with the decorating, too?”
“Didn’t ask, but I’d guess yes.” Clarence nodded. “Might as well make peace with the idea. You’ll be seeing a lot of her over the holiday.”
Nate blew out a breath. “It’s fine. We were friends once. I can handle it.”
Clarence gave him a look that said he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push.
The silence pushed Nate to his feet. He clapped his uncle on the shoulder and headed out into the crisp air.
Crossing Atlantic Street to the next block, the town’s LOVE sign shone in the morning sun. Someone had wrapped candy cane-striped ribbon around it overnight.
He smiled at the sight. That’s what he loved about this town. It never waited for perfection. It just showed up with what it had and made it beautiful.
As he rounded the corner toward the schoolhouse project site, his phone buzzed.
WINNIE: Need you to swing by the Dogwood Hall by 10.
WINNIE: Hannah Leigh will meet you. Be nice. Don’t scare her off.
He rolled his eyes, typing back.
NATE: I’m always nice. You’re thinking of Uncle Clarence.
Why was everyone acting like it was such a big deal for him to see Hannah Leigh? Their history, well, it was just that…history. They had been kids.
Winnie texted back the emoji with the winking face and tongue stuck out.
“What? Winnie. You did not just send that.” But he didn’t respond. Letting it go was the mature way to handle that. He didn’t mind helping Hannah Leigh. Not really. It might be nice to have the chance to get to meet the grown-up version of the girl who once made his teenage heart trip over itself like a Christmas puppy on polished floors.
Perhaps Christmas this year would center on more than just decorations. Maybe, just maybe, it was about a second chance.
He walked over to the school. Looking out over the now landscaped area that used to be the playground, he remembered chasing Hannah Leigh Parker around the monkey bars. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he’d ever caught her, but there was excitement and giggles in the effort, and that had been enough.
He checked his watch for the third time, but still didn’t move toward the door. Showing up early would scream eager, and he wasn’t about to give the whole town, or Hannah Leigh, that kind of headline. The gossip grapevine would love that.
So, he tightened the bow on the wreath of the front entrance and then lingered over his coffee like he had nothing better todo, dragging out every minute until the clock finally caught up with him.
At exactly ten o’clock, he climbed the old schoolhouse steps. The venue smelled of wood polish and holiday spice. This building had been everything from a haunted house to a voting precinct since the school closed. Today, it was hard to recognize this place.
Nate’s boots sounded heavy against the floors as he walked to the new community event space. His team had done the heavy lifting on this renovation.
Inside, the high ceilings still held the original tin tiles, and the windows, now re-glazed and painted a soft antique cream, caught the morning light perfectly. He took it in. There was something about restoring the bones of an old building that settled the ache in his chest like nothing else.
He’d been working on this project on and off all fall, ever since his uncle, the mayor, had reluctantly agreed to move the opening of the venue up for this year’s Christmas events. Nate didn’t ask questions about the change of heart. He simply picked up his hammer and said, “Yes.”
Today, though, he wasn’t alone. Which was a wrinkle.
