CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day, Nate pulled into the parking lot in front of Dogwood Hall after lunch, in response to Hannah Leigh’s text that had read only: Need a hand. Bring muscles and an open mind to the dogwood.
He spotted her before the engine even cooled.
She was standing near her SUV, sawhorses flanking a wide plank of painted wood that caught the winter light.
Her hair lifted in the light breeze, and she had that determined set to her shoulders.
The one that said she’d already made up her mind, and the rest of the world would have to catch up.
Smudges of green and ivory streaked her gloves, and a little crescent of paint marked her cheek like a badge of creativity.
The scene looked more like a pop-up art fair than a parking lot.
A thermos sat nearby, steam curling faintly from the lid, and the air carried the mingled scents of cedar, cold pavement, and fresh paint.
He climbed out, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked toward her. “Should I even ask?”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Just in time. What do you think?”
He came closer, the sign’s bold white lettering taking shape:
Love Left Behind Board
Meet Me at the Dogwood — A New South Hill Tradition
He let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll give you this—you don’t think small.”
She grinned, clearly proud. “Told you I was serious about finding the owner of that locket. And this is how we’re going to do it.”
He folded his arms, trying not to smile. “Couldn’t you post a flyer like a normal person?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He chuckled under his breath. There it was again. That spark she carried, the one that made even the simplest idea feel like it might turn into something magical. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried. Probably both.
She turned, one hand on her hip. “Besides, no one would even notice one of those. Have you seen the number of fluttering posters on the poles in this town?”
He shrugged. She had a valid point.
“I’m going to spread the word that people can post their love stories here. I’ve got a basket to hang on the side, and pushpins so people can tack them up if they want.”
He could tell her mind was swirling with ideas.
“Maybe,” she said, “we should write a couple of notes to get it started.”
His brow shot up. “You mean make something up?”
“Of course not, but if you don’t have one, you could write about someone else’s story,” she said. “Maybe one of them holds the key to who once wore this locket.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Well, doubting Thomas, once people get caught up in watching for new messages on the Love Left Behind board I can post the locket pictures here. With any luck, someone local will recognize those faces.”
“I’m not doubting your plan, just asking questions.” He could tell from her tone there’d be no talking her out of it. So instead, he picked up the sign. “I’m assuming this is what you wanted my muscles for. Where do you want this thing?”
“I’ve got the spot ready for you. Can you carry the sign by yourself?” she asked. “I can help.”
“I’ve got it. Lead the way.”
She started up the sidewalk, boots crunching over the frosted grass, a small cardboard box under her arm. The smell of paint and cold air mingled as they reached the edge of the lawn where the old dogwood stood, its branches bare but laced with twinkle lights that hadn’t yet been plugged in.
“Right here,” she said, pointing to a patch of softened earth.
He crouched to inspect the spot. She’d already prepped the holes, neat and even. “You dug these yourself?” he asked, half impressed, half amused.
“Of course. I can handle a screw gun and a pair of posthole diggers.” She pointed to two 4x4s on the ground. “Mr. Graham donated the posts.”
“Nice of him,” he said, smiling as he as he anchored it to the posts and eased the display into position.
He steadied the frame while she knelt beside him, packing the soil with her gloved hands.
Their shoulders brushed once, then again, the contact light but enough to make him aware of how close they were.
“There,” she said, brushing off her gloves. “That should do it.”
He gave the board a light shake. “Solid.” The lettering gleamed against the winter gray, bold and hopeful. “Looks good. People will notice this for sure.”
She stepped back beside him, tilting her chin toward the sign. “That’s the idea. A place for folks to leave messages, memories, maybe even confessions. If that locket belonged to someone in love, maybe their story will find its way back here.”
Nate studied her for a moment, admiring the way her eyes caught the light. She had that same unshakable faith his grandmother used to talk about—hope stitched right into her bones.
“Well,” he said finally, “if faith and hard work can bring a story home, I’d say you’ve already stacked the odds in your favor.”
Her smile came slow, soft, and sure. “Guess we’ll see.”
They stood there a moment longer beneath the dogwood, the night still and winter air cool, the painted sign gleaming between them like a promise.
He gave the sign a testing shake. “Sturdy. Nice work.”
“Thanks for the help,” she said, her smile lingering a beat longer than necessary.
“You’re welcome.” Nate stepped beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed as they looked over the scene.
The quiet hum of Main Street came alive around the corner.
In a while, all the lights here at Dogwood Hall would come on with the timer and illuminate this area and the new Lost Love Board.
Hannah Leigh For a moment, it seemed like they’d built something that mattered, even if it was just a sign and a dream. went digging through the box and hung a basket of notecards and ink pens on the side from a small hook already there. “There we go.”
He read the words on the front of the basket.
“Happiness Zone.” “Tell us your tale!” “Love letters welcome!” “No names. No problem.”
“Not bad,” he said, nudging her lightly. “You’ve thought this through.” Still seemed unlikely to work, but he wasn’t about to say that.
“Thanks,” she said with a soft smile. “This tree’s carried that locket for years, like it knew one day the story would need to be told again.”
He looked at her instead of the sign, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“Pretty sure this tree just found its headline,” he said.
“Unless the mayor shows up. My Uncle Clarence has opinions about everything from garland symmetry to bulb wattage. I’m guessing this didn’t go through his approval committee? ”
She shook her head, smiling. “I told you I came up with this idea last night.”
He winced playfully. “Well, brace yourself. That’s not gonna earn you any points.”
“Oh, please.” She tipped her chin toward him. “Let me guess. The mayor likes his trees like he likes his coffee. Bitter, plain, and best enjoyed alone.”
“Ha. Good guess.” Nate laughed, the sound echoing down the sidewalk. “You’re not wrong.”
And right on cue, the man himself strolled up the sidewalk, hands clasped behind his back, scarf knotted tight as a necktie.
“Well, well,” Mayor Collier said, eyeing the sign with angst. “Happiness zone? I see y’all have taken some creative liberties.”
From where Nate stood, Hannah Leigh’s smile was sunshine and mischief rolled into one. “Just making spirits bright,” she said, and even Clarence’s scowl seemed to lose some wattage.
The mayor gave a single “hmph,” muttered something about city code, and kept walking.
As Uncle Clarence cleared the corner, Nate blew out a breath. “Honestly, that went better than I expected.”
Hannah Leigh planted her hands on her hips. “A code violation? It’s Christmas.”
“That’s my uncle. He’s been allergic to joy since I was a kid.”
“Well it’s time someone reminded him what it feels like,” she said, tapping her coat pocket where the locket rested. “Doubt he’d appreciate something as romantic as love letters or lost lockets.”
“You think a locket’s romantic?” Nate asked, teasing.
“You don’t?”
“Me?” He kept his face as straight as he possible “I’d never argue with romance.”
She gave him a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “Sure you wouldn’t.”
“Okay, so kidding aside. How is this sign going to help you find the owner of that locket?”
Hannah Leigh looked hesitant but then pulled a paper sign from the box she’d carried over. “This.”
She pinned it at the top, smoothing it flat. “See. It says, ‘Share your favorite hometown romance story, or a love you never got to say goodbye to.’”
Not exactly subtle. “You think this will work?” He stepped back to take in the whole thing.
“I do,” Hannah Leigh said. “People love to share stories. Especially when they think no one is listening. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll bake shortbread cookies shaped like hearts and sit here to lure folks in.”
“Maybe that should be Plan A.” Nate couldn’t help teasing her. It was like sixth grade all over again. That odd sensation when you like someone, but don’t know if they like you. “I actually think this is charming. We should spread the word down at the theater and at Bringleton’s tomorrow.”
“You’ll help?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Let’s pack up and get out of here.” He couldn’t help watching her.
She lingered by the sign, brushing her fingers across the bark of the dogwood like she was half-listening for its secrets.
He didn’t know what story the locket carried, but the way she looked at it made him believe it mattered.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but he could tell she was a little miffed.
“You know, you have a point. The locket might be more than a coincidence.” A soft breeze carried the smell of kettle corn and cinnamon, tugging her gaze toward the square.
“Thanks for saying that.”
“Smell that? Best kettle corn around. Come on, my treat.” Nate nodded toward the end of the block. “Looks like they’re testing the sound system and lights down at the Colonial Theater.”
Hannah Leigh smiled, falling into step beside him. “You mean South Hill’s first miracle of the season?”
Nate arched a brow. “Funny, I thought the first one showed up wearing red boots with paint on her hands earlier today. Which would make the lights the runner-up.”
Her laugh came without warning, light and genuine, the sound that made people turn and smile. He did too—because there was something about her that he couldn’t look away from.
“You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he said, grinning, eyes catching the light just right to make his teasing feel like a promise.
She shook her head, still smiling. “Let’s stick to one miracle at a time. I’ll take a rain check on the kettle corn. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”