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 same time, 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. ”
The bell over the front door chimed when Nate stepped in with a box of wreath hooks, boots dusted, hair wind-stirred.
He zeroed in on Evan, the bag, and Hannah Leigh in a single exhale. Something in his jaw went still. He set the hooks down as if they weighed more than metal.
Evan kept talking, oblivious. “Come back with me. We’ll put you where you belong.”
Hannah Leigh felt the old ache. The one that came from being treated like an asset instead of a person. She opened her mouth, but Nate lifted a hand first, quiet and careful.
“I’ll be in the storage room,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.
“Nate—”
He’d already turned down the hall.
Aunt Winnie reappeared with two steaming cups of cocoa and a smile that said she could turn this whole moment into compost with five minutes and a shovel. Birdie hovered behind her like a decorative exclamation point.
Hannah Leigh took a breath and faced the past. “Evan, thank you for considering me for that job. And for the macarons. But I’m not going back.”
He blinked, surprise cracking the polish. “You haven’t even heard the numbers.”
“It isn’t about numbers,” she said. “It’s about trust. Fit. Home.”
“We built a life there,” he tried again, gentler.
“No, I built a résumé there,” she said. “I’m building a life here.”
Something in his expression cooled. “This town will box you in.”
“This town brought me back to myself.”
Silence fell, clean as winter air.
Aunt Winnie pressed a warm cup into Hannah Leigh’s hands. “Cocoa?”
Evan smoothed his cuff. “I should go.”
“You should,” Birdie chirped. “Traffic on 58’s a bear after three.” Then, faster than a hummingbird, she snapped a photo. “For my files. I’m with the paper.”
Evan nodded toward Hannah Leigh. “Good luck.” His gaze flicked over the framed photos of past festivals and handwritten thank-you notes tacked to the corkboard, his mouth twisting like everything was quaint in the worst way. Without another word, he turned and walked out.
The room exhaled.
Aunt Winnie’s hand rested warm between Hannah Leigh’s shoulders. “You all right, honey?”
“I will be,” she said. Then, steadier: “I am.”
Birdie tipped the blinds. “Don’t dawdle. Nate headed toward the Dogwood Hall.”
Hannah Leigh didn’t need directions. She set the macarons on the counter, grabbed her coat, and hurried for the door.
“Bring him back,” Aunt Winnie called. “I’ve got a wreath that needs two sets of hands.”
“And I want a quote for the Enterprise,” Birdie added. “Something swoony.”
“Birdie,” Winnie warned, but she was smiling.
Twilight laid a soft gold on Main. She moved briskly down the sidewalk, pushed purely by adrenaline.
She ran the last few yards toward the building.
The Meet Me at the Dogwood sign made her heart hiccup.
Moments she and Nate had spent looking at the letters and notes posted there flooded back.
The way his hand first brushed hers, and she that zing raced through her.
The one she tried to ignore but couldn’t.
Nate stood a few paces off, hands in his pockets, staring at the dogwood, looking like a man arguing with himself and losing politely.
“If you’re about to apologize for something you didn’t do,” Hannah Leigh said as she crossed the grass, “save us both the trouble.”
He looked over, steady but guarded. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t.” She stopped close enough to see the flecks in his eyes. “But I want to give you one.”
He stayed quiet. She could hear the quiet yes within the silence.
“Evan is my past,” she said. “I thanked him for the offer and told him no. I chose here.” Her fingers found his. “I choose you.”
The words opened the space between them like a window in a warm room.
Nate’s shoulders eased. “I only heard the part where he asked you to go back.”
“Then hear this part, too.” She squeezed his hand. “South Hill is home. You’re home. I will choose you every single day.”
He blew out a breath that sounded like relief braided with hope. “All right, then.”
A horse-drawn carriage jingled by on the street, bells tossing in bright agreement. The lights strung along the branches blinked as if they approved.
“Also,” she said, tipping her tone toward playful, “Birdie wants a quote for her column.”
“Oh, she’ll get one,” he murmured, tugging her closer. “But she might have to work for it.”
Hannah Leigh nuzzled in closer. “Think she’ll accept ‘no comment’?”
“Not a chance.”
His kiss was soft and certain, not a scene-stealer, but clearly a promise intended to be kept. When they separated, the stars showed off as the sky darkened above them.
“Ready to finish bows before Winnie tracks us down with that clipboard?” she asked.
“With pleasure.” He threaded their fingers. “Let’s go build something that matters.”
The little sign by the dogwood shone like it understood: some stories find their way home as they turned to walk back to the office.
Back at the Chamber office, Birdie had moved the macarons to a pedestal plate and labeled them with a card that read,
“Fancy Cookies. May Cause Bad Attitude.”
Aunt Winnie stood by a wreath that could’ve anchored a schooner.
“Good,” Winnie said when Hannah Leigh and Nate walked in together. “We’ve got twelve minutes and a long run of banister.” Her gaze flicked between them, satisfied. “And look at that. Y’all are already holding hands. Saves me a speech.”
“Don’t think we’ll be needing any of those, Winnie.” Nate reached for the behemoth wreath. “Where do you want it?”
“Top of the stairs,” said Aunt Winnie. “And somebody hand me the zip ties before I resort to duct tape and scandalize the Historical Society…again.”
He trotted up with the wreath. Hannah Leigh followed, and they worked with the ease they’d been learning.
Nate anchoring, Hannah Leigh fanning ribbon, both of them adjusting balance until the whole thing sat right.
It felt like practice for something larger: the give and take, the way one person steadied while the other made it pretty; how both roles mattered, equally and always.
From below, Birdie called, “Are we pro-bow or anti-bow on the end cap?”
“Pro-bow,” Aunt Winnie and Hannah Leigh said in unison.
“Put that in your column,” Winnie added. “South Hill: Bold on bows, stingy on drama.”
Birdie made a delighted sound. “Keep talking.”
They finished the banister, then moved to the front table, where a pile of clipboards remained to be put in order. Nate straightened them while Hannah Leigh tucked a sprig of cedar under the top clip of each. It was nothing and everything, order and kindness in the same sweep.
Aunt Winnie brought over four plastic champagne flutes filled with sparkling. “Don’t get excited. It’s just ginger ale, but I feel like we should toast.” She distributed them and lifted hers. “To clarity.”
“To second chances,” Birdie added.
Nate glanced at Hannah Leigh. “To staying,” he breathed the words more than spoke them.
She met his eyes over the rim of her flute. “To choosing.”
“That’s beautiful.” Birdie sniffed. “Well, that’s my pull-quote.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, one more toast to keeping the city riffraff out of South Hill.”
“Amen!” they drank to that.
A knock at the front door made all three of them turn.
It was Edna Sue, cheeks pink from the air, velvet hat perfectly centered.
“I just got this,” she said. “I brought the engraving proof for the plaque that will go below the historical marker.” She held out a cardstock mockup. The simple script read:
Keep faith through winter, South Hill.
For All Who Wait.
Aunt Winnie pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, that’ll do.”
“It will,” Hannah Leigh said, throat tight.
Birdie floated closer like a moth to a porch light. “May I?”
Edna Sue nodded, then looked at Nate and Hannah Leigh together. “I’m glad you two are staying busy.”
“We’re good at busy,” Nate said. “We’re getting better at the rest.”
Edna Sue smiled. “The rest is where the good happens.” She tucked her hands into her muff. “I’ll send the approval to the engraver. We’ll have it ready by New Year’s.”
“Thank you,” Hannah Leigh said. “For everything.”
Edna Sue left, and things were finally as they should be.
Aunt Winnie fanned a stack of recipe cards.
“All right, lovebirds. I need two things before I release you to your lives. For tonight, anyway.” She snickered and turned to Nate first. “I need you, sir, to take down the Christmas Tidings Breakfast banner and rehang the welcome banner at Dogwood Hall. Hannah Leigh, I need a final headcount for the library fundraiser cocoa bar event.”
“On it,” they said, like a team who’d practiced the handoff.
They slid into their coats. At the door, Hannah Leigh paused, touching the frame, the worn paint smooth beneath her fingertips. “Thank you,” she said to Aunt Winnie, meaning more than errands.
Her aunt’s gaze softened. “You’re welcome. Now go do the next right thing and bring me back the story.”
“Birdie already called dibs,” Nate said.
“Birdie can share,” Winnie replied.
“I don’t know about that,” Nate said. “But if she does, I’d say there’s definitely Christmas magic involved.
Out on the sidewalk, the lights winked on one by one until the outline of every building on Main Street was lit. The square breathed, easy and bright. Nate took Hannah Leigh’s hand as naturally as if he’d never stopped.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said, half teasing, wholly earnest. “If some other fella shows up with macarons—”
“I’ll thank him kindly and point him to Bringleton’s,” she interrupted. “We have our own sweet things here.”
“Exactly.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You’re my sweet thing.”
They walked toward Dogwood Hall, shoulders touching. Behind them, the little sign by the tree caught the light again like a promise.
Some offers dazzle, but the right one anchors. And Hannah Leigh felt anchored in all the best ways.
This time, she wasn’t planning the moment. She was living it.