CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Hannah Leigh stepped outside, it was like walking into a Christmas postcard.
Flurries danced around them, dusting the nativity display in front of the bank and catching on her eyelashes with a tickle.
The lamppost outside Harper's Jewelry wore a hand-knitted scarf and a big silver bow, and someone had tucked tiny stockings along the base, each with a handwritten name.
In the jewelry store window, warm white lights framed a single velvet box holding an antique ring that looked like it carried a century’s worth of love stories. Hannah Leigh’s heart pulsed with that hopeful, irritating ache that always snuck up on her this time of year.
Of course, that was when Aunt Winnie pulled up in her bright red convertible, top down, tartan cape trailing behind her like a Christmas banner.
“There she is!” Winnie hollered, climbing out with flair.
Hannah Leigh gaped. “What on earth are you doing driving that thing in this weather? You know Uncle Skip would be in a tizzy! He’s got to be rolling over in his grave.”
“Well, he’s not here to do any fussing. God bless his heart. I miss him, but I make the rules nowadays.” Winnie grinned and tugged her cape into place. “Besides, I kind of like driving this car with the top down in the cold.”
Hannah Leigh’s heart softened. Her aunt had taken a long time to find joy again after losing Uncle Skip. Maybe a little convertible joyride in December was the type of crazy she’d earned.
“But why the top down?”
“Had to give a giant nutcracker a ride from the arena where they used it last night back to the square so he can guard the Christmas tree. Couldn’t find a man with a truck, and I was in a hurry, so I had to improvise.”
“Well, I guess in some odd way your gumption impresses me.” Am I doomed to be crazy? It’s in Winnie’s DNA. Same DNA as Mom’s was. A quote from an old sitcom came to mind.
This is the South. And we’re proud of our crazy people.
We don’t hide them up in the attic.
We bring ‘em right down to the living room and show ‘em off.
And wasn’t Aunt Winnie proof of that right now?
“Carry on,” Hannah Leigh teased.
Winnie slid her sunglasses down, eyes sparkling. “The mayor’s got a sudden obsession with that Love Left Behind board. Tried to have it taken down, you know. Said it was inciting unrest.”
“Unrest?” Hannah Leigh couldn’t believe it. “It’s a memory board, not a mutiny.”
“Mmm-hmm. And yet, he’s jumpier than a cricket on a griddle. You know what that means.”
“That it’s Christmastime and everyone’s sleep-deprived?”
Her aunt arched a perfectly drawn brow. “That there’s something worth digging into. Which I intend to do, right between my cider tastings and wreath-judging duties.”
Before Hannah Leigh could respond, her phone buzzed.
NATE: Meet me at the Love Left Behind Board. Top of hour?
She smiled despite herself, typing back a thumbs up and a clock.
As she slipped her phone away, her gaze lifted again to Harper's Jewelry’s display window. Maybe it was time to follow up on that mystery, and on the pull in her chest that had nothing to do with Christmas nostalgia.
She pushed through the door, the little bell above it jingling like the start of a new chapter.
The bell’s chime faded into the soft tick of the old grandfather clock in the corner. Harper's Jewelry looked almost exactly as she remembered, glass display cases lined with velvet trays, brass sconces casting a golden glow, and the faint scent of metal polish and cedar cleaner.
“Well, if it isn’t Hannah Leigh,” Sandra Kinker called from behind the counter, her silver hair swept into a perfect twist. “Wondered when you’d make time for me. You here for your aunt’s bracelet repair or just to make a little trouble?”
“A little of both,” Hannah Leigh said with a grin. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something.”
Sandra peered over her glasses. “What’ve you got there?”
Hannah Leigh placed the locket on a square of black velvet. The gold oval looked even more delicate under the light.
“Well, I’ll be,” Sandra murmured. “That’s the locket, isn’t it?”
“The locket?”
“Honey, this looks an awful lot like the one that folks around here have told stories about for years. The dogwood tree story.” Sandra then dropped the act of pretending she’d recognized it, and said, “Plus, Birdie already dropped some hints you’d be coming.”
“Of course, she did.”
“Gotta love her.” Sandra motioned toward the workbench. “Victoria, come look at this.”
Victoria hurried over, dark curls bouncing as she tugged on a jeweler’s loupe. She leaned in, studying the hinge and edges with care. “There’s a stamp on the clasp,” she said after a moment. “That’s Grandpa’s mark. He used it on all his custom engravings beginning in the fifties.”
“So it’s from here,” Hannah Leigh whispered.
Sandra nodded, nostalgia flickering in her eyes. “Definitely. I can go through the old ledgers to see if we can find who ordered it, but honestly that was a long time ago. Might take a bit. We’ve got eighty years of history in those books.”
“If you find anything, would you let me know?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Sandra said, patting her hand. “If that locket has a story, it’s about time we heard the ending.”
Victoria snapped a quick photo for their records.
“We’ll keep you posted. If it turns out this locket is part of that dogwood legend, imagine what a story that would be.
Great for the shop, and the town. We might actually get the Hallmark movie made here.
Your aunt has been writing letters for years trying to get them to bite. No luck yet.”
As Hannah Leigh stepped back into the cold, the bell jingled behind her. The idea of holding the very locket from a decades-old love story was so romantic, like she was carrying a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her.
Well, she’d confirmed the locket’s roots in South Hill, but there wasn’t much else to trace Ruthie Danvers and Henry Bell. She walked over to Dogwood Hall to meet up with Nate, and to see if maybe something new that could help was on the Love Left Behind board.
The venue was buzzing when she arrived, and the number of cards and notes on the Love Left Behind board had doubled overnight.
She began reading them. Most were just silly things by people who just wanted to be a part of something, which was fine.
It made her happy that it was an inviting thing to do.
Some notes were heartbreaking, others funny, a few written in the shaky penmanship of second chances.
“You’re late, Parker.”
She turned to find Nate at her side, arms crossed, that familiar grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Had to make a stop.” She lifted her tote. “Harper’s Jewelry. Turns out the locket came from there. Sandra recognized her grandfather’s engraving stamp.”
Nate gave a low whistle. “So the story’s real?”
“Looks that way.”
He leaned in, scanning the board. “Small towns and secrets. They are always more connected than they look.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder, reading one note after another, until one caught her eye. Plain white paper, printed in block letters:
A man beneath the dogwood.
A broken heart.
A promise gone unkept.
Hannah Leigh swallowed. “You think this is the same story? About Ruthie and Henry.”
“Could be,” Nate spoke with easy warmth. “Or maybe this tree’s seen more heartbreak than we realized.”
When she looked up, he was watching her. The quiet between them stretched, charged and uncertain, full of something she wasn’t ready to name.
“You’ve got glitter on your cheek,” he said, reaching to brush it away. His fingers grazed her skin, light as breath.
Her pulse jumped. “Hazard of the job.”
His gaze went up and then dipped toward her lips. “Occupational perk for me.”
The mistletoe hanging over the entryway caught her eye, and she took a step back. “Seriously?”
“Hey, I didn’t put it there.” He leaned a fraction closer, his breath warm against the cool air between them.
Her heart raced, and his breath warmed her cheek.
“Hey, Coach!” a voice hollered.
They broke apart like guilty teenagers. A kid in a football jacket jogged up, grinning. “Mom says to remind you I’m going to be late to practice tomorrow.”
Nate exhaled through a laugh. “Yeah. Got it. No problem”
When the boy ran off, Hannah Leigh met his gaze again, trying not to smile too wide. “Timing’s everything, huh?”
“Apparently, mine isn’t as good as I thought.” His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary. “We’ll finish that conversation later.”