CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The air in South Hill had that clear, bright snap that made breath look like smoke and cheeks as red as apples. Somewhere close, bells chimed the quarter hour. The town felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years.
Hannah Leigh hooked her arm through Nate’s, matching his easy stride as they joined the slow parade toward the square.
She waved to Charlie who was driving Santa in his spit-shined convertible.
Kids squealed with their hands in the air as Santa tossed candy canes to the folks along the parade route.
“I could bottle this,” she said. “Hope with a hint of cinnamon.”
“Careful,” Nate teased. “Bringleton’s will bottle it and sell it by the tub.”
They passed the antiques shop, where Mrs. Weaver’s headless mannequins stood like gossiping neighbors in wool cardigans.
Across the street, the Colonial Theater’s marquee announced:
CHRISTMAS JOY
ONE NIGHT ONLY
A young couple posed beneath it. Behind them, Aunt Winnie emerged from the dress shop with a shopping bag on her hip and a scarf flung around her neck and over her shoulder. She’d traded her apron for pearls, but her energy hadn’t dimmed.
“Well, look at y’all,” she called. “If joy had a marching band, you’d be leading it.”
“Evening, Winnie,” Nate said. “Headed to the festivities? It’s the last day.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I don’t know that the mayor has ever called for a gathering that wasn’t on my agenda.
” She lowered her voice. “That’s a first. And by the way, if Birdie prints that picture of me dancing with that cute little dog, I’ll deny it till the Lord himself intervenes.
” Her eyes softened. “You look settled, honey. That suits you.”
“I’m good.” Hannah Leigh smiled, her fingers slipping into Nate’s.
Bringleton’s door swung open, releasing a wave of cocoa and marshmallow steam. The shopkeeper waved them in. “Hot drinks for the walk,” he said. “If the mayor called an impromptu town hall at the Christmas festival, it must be important. No telling how long he’ll ramble.”
He marched over to the counter and handed them each a cup. “On the house for our favorite cookbook taster and her coach.”
“Are you buttering us up for Birdie’s column?” Nate asked.
“Son, I would never,” Bringleton said solemnly, then grinned. “But if you tell Birdie my Christmas cookies changed your life, I won’t stop you.”
“I hear ya.” They stepped back into the crowd, hands warmed by paper cups.
White lights webbed across the square, the giant tree throwing a shimmer that landed on faces like confetti.
Folks queued for pictures in front of the LOVE sign, passing phones to strangers who insisted on taking “just one more, for safety.”
Near the bandstand, Birdie perched with a pencil behind her ear and her notebook open to a fresh page. “For the record,” she said, “Bringleton can keep his tubs. What I want is that recipe for those gingerbread bars you took to the council potluck.”
“I got it,” Hannah Leigh said. “I’ll type it up tonight.”
“Bless you.” Birdie flipped a page. “Also, the mayor’s been practicing his speech in Harper’s Jewelry window reflection. That can’t be nothing.”
Hannah Leigh looked up to see Edna Sue stood in the doorway. “I was hoping to see you two,” she called.
Then the mayor stepped to the microphone, paper folded in his hand. The squeak settled after one protest.
“Neighbors,” he began, “most of you know I’m a man of few words. Tonight, I’ve got a few worth saying.”
A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.
“We’re a town that tends to what lasts. We fuss over the short term, sure, but it’s the long term where we truly live.
The dogwood behind me has watched us at our best and our worst. It’s shaded proposals, farewells, and first kisses.
Thanks to a certain historian and the Collier family, we’ve found proof that love and duty go way back in South Hill. ”
He nodded toward Edna Sue. “Tonight, the council affirms what the deed already declared. The dogwood will stand protected as a landmark. We’ll add a plaque engraved with the words from the locket and legend.
We should plan an annual dogwood remembrance each winter with the theme: Keep faith through winter. ”
Cheers swept the square. Someone whooped; someone else at their tears without shame. Birdie scribbled like her pencil might catch fire.
Aunt Winnie hollered, “Say it again!”
The mayor smiled and did. “Keep faith through winter.”
Hannah Leigh reached for Nate’s hand, warmth pooling deep. Not rush, not adrenaline, something steady and becoming familiar. “Walk with me?” she asked.
They strolled past tables selling hand pies and goodies, and an entire display of used Christmas books for just a quarter each to raise money for literacy.
She stopped at the Love Left Behind board in the market booth on Main Street.
Notes fluttered in the breeze filled with regrets, apologies, confessions. A fresh yellow one read:
Sometimes the past leads you home.
She traced the edges. “That one’s true,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear.
Nate nodded. “Fits us, too.”
Just then, he grinned and pointed. “Oh, that’s too good. See her? Deanna Chapman and her little Shih Tzu. Crowd’s eating it up.”
Hannah Leigh couldn’t help but laugh. “Perfect. The mayor might get upstaged.”
They watched the white-and-liver-spotted dog prance in a red sweater, a single felt antler drooping over one ear. Standing tall on hind legs, he pawed at the air for treats from Deanna’s holiday tin.
“Looks like somebody found his audience,” Nate said. “You’ve met Deanna?”
“Not yet.”
He took her hand and led her over. “Deanna, this is Hannah Leigh. She’s Winnie’s niece.”
“So nice to meet you.” Deanna’s smile was bright. “Can’t imagine ever leaving this town. I just love it.”
“Sometimes it takes leaving to see what you had,” Hannah Leigh said, kneeling to pat the pup. “And who’s this dashing reindeer?”
“This is George,” Deanna said proudly, feeding him a bone-shaped biscuit. “Don’t tell him he’s not Rudolph. He ate one of the antlers last year, so this season we’re calling him Max from The Grinch.”
“My favorite,” Nate said.
Right on cue, George spotted a golden retriever jingling by and let out a bark big enough for a hound twice his size. Then, with dramatic flair, he launched himself from the curb straight into Deanna’s waiting arms. She caught him mid-flight, earning cheers from the crowd.
“His bark’s bigger than his bravery,” Deanna explained. “He’s a tiger, as long as I’m holding him. Put him on the ground, and he’ll hide.”
The laughter rolled through the square, even over the mayor’s mic tap.
“South Hill sure knows how to put on a show,” Hannah Leigh said.
“Guess even the dogs have Christmas spirit,” Nate replied, hands in pockets, grin easy.
They wandered, the band playing something upbeat.
Birdie elbowed Hannah Leigh. “Need a line for tomorrow’s column—something that makes folks smile first, then reach for a tissue.”
“Ask Aunt Winnie,” Hannah Leigh said.
Birdie pivoted in a wink.
Aunt Winnie, ever ready, lifted her thermos. “Put this down: South Hill doesn’t run on cocoa and lights. We run on folks who show up. We run on second chances.” She paused, grinning. “But if you want to bring me cocoa, I won’t say no.”
“Perfect,” Birdie said, scribbling.
The choir sang out the words to Frosty the Snowman. Children twirled in puffer coats. The LOVE sign blinked for another camera flash. A granddad dabbed his eyes and pretended it was the cold.
Nate turned Hannah Leigh by the fingertips. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she responded with a bit of surprise. “For the first time in a long, I really am.”
He smiled. “This feels so good.” She leaned into him, their breaths mingling in the crisp night.
Aunt Winnie raised her thermos. “To second chances,” she toasted.
“Seconded,” Nate called, and voices around them echoed the words.
The lights brightened one final notch. Birdie’s pencil danced, cocoa flowed, and George the Shih Tzu strutted proudly in his single antler.
South Hill had come alive again. With lights, love, laughter, this time, it felt like it might just stay that way.