CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hannah Leigh woke to the smell of coffee drifting through Aunt Winnie’s house, straight up the narrow stairs to the second-floor guest room.
The scent felt like comfort and home rolled into one.
The lace curtains breathed with soft winter light, and for the first time in a long while, her mind wasn’t sprinting toward the next deadline or some bigger, shinier goal.
Peace had found her in the night and settled deep.
Clarity, that was the word.
She lay still for a moment, her palm resting over her heart as last night replayed in slow, sharp frames.
The beautiful Christmas tree. Feeling the crowd gasp in delight.
But mostly the way Nate had looked at her.
Like he’d been waiting his whole life to find her, and then the hurt in his eyes when he realized she was thinking about leaving.
She sat up and pulled Aunt Winnie’s old double wedding ring quilt close.
The patchwork was soft, even thin in places, worn smooth by decades of love.
Her great-grandmother had hand-stitched it for her grandmother and then handed down to Mom.
When Mom died, Aunt Winnie took claim, holding it until the day it would pass, like a blessing, to Hannah Leigh on her wedding day.
Hannah Leigh traced the design, remembering how she used to imagine her wedding someday, her own story stitched into those circles.
There’d been a time she thought that would be with Evan. That ended clean, but empty. And now, somehow, she’d gone and broken something new, something real, with Nate.
Was this job worth it? To miss out on something so good for the sake of a title?
Her gaze swept the cozy room, framed cross-stitches, shelves of spiral-bound church cookbooks, an antique brass lamp that turned the morning golden. Everything here whispered peace and belonging. This trip hadn’t been a visit at all. It had been her fresh start, whether she’d known it or not.
South Hill was steady where she needed grounding, colorful where her life could use some sparkle, and rooted deep enough to make her want to stay.
She wanted that. She wanted to work here, love here, build something lasting. But then there was that other whisper, the lure of “bigger.”
Her mind opened now like a dogwood blossom in spring.
Hannah Leigh Events. “That’s it. The answer.” She grabbed a pen and paper from the nightstand and started writing the ideas that were flooding forth.
A small studio near the square with white-trimmed windows and a brass bell over the door.
She could see it clear as day, weddings at the depot, anniversary parties at the Colonial, church socials with thoughtful touches, a harvest dinner on the green come fall.
The new Dogwood Hall needed someone to keep things rolling there.
Every December, she’d turn the South Hill Hometown Holiday into something folks couldn’t wait for. The Festival of Cheer.
Her grandmother used to say, “You take care where people gather, and they’ll feel taken care of long after they go home.”
Maybe this was my calling all along.
Hannah Leigh leapt out of bed and tugged her favorite magenta sweater on over her pajama pants to go downstairs. The floor squeaked as she followed the aroma of coffee and the sound of Aunt Winnie humming in the kitchen.
“Morning, honey,” Winnie called from the stove. Today’s apron was peppermint striped, faded near the hem where a dozen Christmases had brushed against it. “You want your coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in, or you plan to be gentle with yourself today?”
“Gentle,” Hannah Leigh leaned in to kiss her aunt’s cheek. “And I might need two cups of it.”
Winnie filled the holly mug. The same one Hannah Leigh had picked out at an antique shop when she was six. “You look like a woman with the weight of the world sitting square on her shoulders,” Winnie said. “Coffee won’t fix that.”
“I didn’t sleep much,” Hannah Leigh admitted. “Too many thoughts.”
“Mm-hmm.” Winnie gave her that look that could cut through a fence post. “Thoughts about Charlotte, or thoughts about a certain Collier boy?”
“Both. Maybe neither. I don’t know,” Hannah Leigh said, staring into the coffee.
Her aunt took the chair across from her, hands folded. “You keep thinking your next big thing’s out there somewhere, in a city, a title, a paycheck. Honey, sometimes the thing that matters most is right in front of you.”
“It’s so hard to know what to do.”
“Life isn’t complicated,” said Aunt Winnie. “People make it complicated.”
Hannah Leigh smiled faintly. “You’re right. I was just saying that about the mayor and Margaret Jane. Sometimes the truth hurts, but it heals too. Guess I should take my own advice.”
“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 said Work 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 would not confuse busy with purpose any 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.