CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hannah Leigh was now convinced that South Hill had invented its own definition of the word “busy.”
It wasn’t just full calendars or long lists of chores. Busy in South Hill during December was a kind of glittering, jingle-belled, praline-scented whirlwind that never slowed down.
By the time Saturday dawned, Hannah Leigh had already sprinted across the town square twice.
Once to check on the cookie contest table and once to referee an argument between the brass band and the carolers about who got the prime spot outside Bringleton’s.
Both sides claimed tradition, and both had Birdie whispering in their ears like an ornamented devil on each shoulder.
Now, standing in the middle of Main Street with her scarf trailing and her phone buzzing in her coat pocket, Hannah Leigh felt like the whole town was holding its breath before the curtain rose on opening day of the Hometown Holiday Festival.
And if something went wrong, all fingers would point at her, and she couldn’t let Aunt Winnie down like that.
Across the way, the craft tent was already humming when she ducked inside.
The air was thick with the smell of glue sticks and cinnamon, children’s giggles bubbling like sleigh bells as they clutched paintbrushes and glitter shakers.
At least a dozen kids crowded around long tables, turning paper plates into reindeer masks and pinecones into glittery little angels with crooked halos.
“About time you showed,” Nate called from the far end. Rolled sleeves, sawdust still clinging to his boots, he looked like he’d stepped straight off a project site into Santa’s workshop.
Hannah Leigh pushed her hair off her face. “Don’t start. I’ve been putting out tinsel fires all morning.”
“Literal fires?” He arched a brow.
She shot him a look. “Yes. Someone’s hot glue gun melted a pile of garland.”
Nate chuckled, low and warm, and handed her a pair of scissors. “I can see the headline now. South Hill fires Christmas.”
“Don’t tempt fate,” she said, sliding into place beside him. “Thanks for coming to help.” Their arms brushed as they leaned over the same pile of construction paper, and for a second, the room felt smaller. Warmer.
He passed her a mason jar of glitter. “Here. Supervise. I’ll wrangle the paint.”
She lifted the jar. “Supervise? Have you seen what happens when I supervise? Glitter ends up in people’s hair for weeks.”
“That’s half the point.”
They worked on crafts until the top of the hour when parents began showing up to whisk the kids off to the next thing.
“I think our work here is done,” she said. “That went pretty well.”
“Guess we make a good team.” Nate swept glitter from her sleeve.
“Except for the glitter tattoo,” she teased, lifting her forearm to show off a line of glitter. “I warned you I’m glitter intolerant.”
“I kind of like the way you sparkle.” His words unhurried. “Either way, we’re leaving a trail.”
Hannah Leigh glanced toward the tent flap as jingling bells drifted in on a cool breeze. “Speaking of trails, I hear the horses clopping down the street. Come on.”
Outside the tent, sleigh bells jingled in a steady rhythm. Hannah Leigh peeked out and smiled at the sight of two draft horses pulling a sled piled with families bundled in quilts, their breath puffing white clouds into the air. The driver, old Mr. Hollis, tipped his cap as the sled clopped past.
The sound of the horses mixed with the choir warming up on the courthouse steps.
A few notes of O Come, All Ye Faithful carried on the cold air, sweet and shaky, while the brass band tuned up across the street, trumpets buzzing.
Over it all rose Birdie’s voice from somewhere in the crowd, narrating like she was the official festival announcer.
“Bless her heart,” Hannah Leigh muttered. “I bet Aunt Winnie wishes she could lock Birdie up until this festival is over.”
“We all complain about her, but I think folks will actually miss her if she ever stopped,” said Nate.
Hannah Leigh glanced at him, smiling despite her exhaustion. “You really think so?”
“Sure. Without Birdie, this town would be pretty boring.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
Nate leaned down beside her, close enough that she caught the clean scent of cedar and pine clinging to his jacket. “You’re good at this,” he said.
She kept her eyes focused on the horses going down the street, hoping to hide the sudden flush rising in her cheeks. “Bossing people around?”
“Making chaos feel like Christmas.”
Her throat skipped at the unexpected compliment. She wanted to thank him again for helping. To tell him the way he steadied the kids, and steadied her, felt like more than coincidence. But before she could, Birdie’s voice split through the tent like a trumpet.
“Best news ever!” Birdie bustled over in a blur of red sequins on a Mrs. Santa coat flashing like a disco ball. “Margaret Jane agreed to meet Hannah Leigh!”
Hannah Leigh blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”
Birdie grinned like the cat who’d stolen Santa’s cookies. “Margaret Jane Russell herself. Said she’s ready to talk about the dogwood and that locket. I may have nudged her with a praline bribe, but she’s expecting you.”
Nate’s head snapped toward Hannah Leigh, his expression unreadable but his eyes sparking with both caution and curiosity.
“Birdie—” Hannah Leigh started, but Aunt Winnie interrupted her when she strode over like the conquering general of Christmas, her apron dusted with powdered sugar and a tray of pralines held high.
“We did it!” she announced. “Minnie Pearl’s Pralines are officially back in South Hill. And judging by the crowd at the booth, they’re already a hit. Here.” She pressed the tray forward toward them. “Have one. I’m passing out samples.”
Hannah Leigh snagged a sugared pecan and bit in, the buttery crunch melting on her tongue.
“Now that,” Nate said, chewing thoughtfully, “is Christmas.”
Aunt Winnie winked. “See! This recipe has the power to mend broken hearts. Or at least bribe a few gossip queens into cooperation.” Then she swung around the corner, cheerfully shouting “Praline samples,” into the afternoon.
Beside her, Nate shifted closer. Their shoulders brushed again, and this time neither moved away. “I think she’s talking about Birdie,” Hannah Leigh teased.
“You know she is. Hey, did I tell you that I’m impressed by how you’re keeping all these old gals reined in?”
“Thanks. I needed to hear that today.”
His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, steady and warm. Then a crash of sleigh bells around the corner broke the spell.
She sighed. “Duty calls.”
“I’m coming too.” The two of them zipped around the corner to see Aunt Winnie trying to help untangle the sleigh reins while the driver, old Mr. Hollis, shouted apologies and the horses jingled like they were auditioning for a Christmas album.
“Aunt Winnie! Are you okay?”
“Nothing to see here! The horses just got spooked by the smell of the pralines,” Aunt Winnie said, patting one horse’s nose. “Can’t say I blame ’em. These could stir up anybody’s sweet tooth.”
Hannah Leigh breathed a sigh of relief, and Nate ran over to help Mr. Hollis.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Hannah Leigh still divvied her time hustling between events, the cookie contest where one tray of snowman cookies had suspiciously turned into reindeer heads.
The wreath judging nearly came to blows when the judges couldn’t agree on how to score bow placement, and the sled rides ran long because every child in town begged for one more loop.
Everywhere she turned, Nate was there. Handing her a mug of cocoa. Holding a ladder steady while she adjusted twinkle lights. Grinning when Birdie announced to anyone within earshot that “romance was brewing faster than a kettle of cider.”
By dusk, Hannah Leigh’s legs ached, her hair smelled of pine and pralines, and her phone buzzed with more reminders than she could handle. But when she paused at the edge of the square and saw the town lit up like a thousand memories stitched together, she felt a lump in her throat.
This was South Hill. Sparkling. Messy. Hopeful.
And right in the middle of it, Nate Collier.
Back inside the tent, Aunt Winnie packed up the last pralines, Birdie hummed off-key carols while sweeping sequins, and Nate carried a stack of leftover craft supplies toward the door.
Hannah Leigh reached for her coat, but her gaze lingered on Birdie’s text.
BIRDIE: Margaret Jane agreed to meet.
The locket. The tree. The secrets.
For all the cocoa tubs and carols, for all the sugar and sleigh rides, there was a romantic mystery waiting just beneath the sparkle, and her lonely heart couldn’t wait to hear about it.
And Hannah Leigh also knew, deep down, that tonight’s festival frenzy was only the beginning.