As my beloved husband, my school sweetheart Mister John Bennett would say:

“Life is like a bowl of soup—you’ve got to stir it once in a while, so all the good stuff doesn’t settle at the bottom.”

Hi y’all, I’m Hannah Lee Davis, a spry 65-year-old widow who’s finally gotten around to doing what I’ve dreamt of for years—writing stories that touch the heart and soul. I was born and raised in the heartland of Indiana, where the cornfields stretch as far as the eye can see, and where folks still know the value of a hard day’s work and a kind word. But these days, I find myself out in Colorado, sharing stories and sunsets with my darling sister, Janice.

Why did it take me so long to put pen to paper, you ask? Well, life happened, sugar. I spent most of my years caring for my family, raising kids—after years of trying, mind you—and looking after my aging parents. My husband’s ailment needed time and dedication from my side. Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t trade those days for anything. But there were nights, oh yes, many nights, when I’d sit in my knitting chair, crocheting blankets or scarves, and my mind would wander. Each stitch was like a sentence, each row a paragraph, and before I knew it, I’d crocheted whole stories in my head.

Crocheting, you see, is a lot like weaving stories. You’ve got to have the right pattern, the right tension, and above all, the right yarn to make something truly beautiful. It’s a labor of love, one stitch at a time, just like life.

So why now? Why have I decided to become a published author at this ripe old age? Well, darlin’, it’s simple. I’ve got stories in me that are yearnin’ to be told—tales of love that burns like a prairie fire, and courage that stands as tall as a mountain. I write because I want to wrap you up in a narrative as comforting as one of my homemade quilts, a story that’ll make you feel at home, no matter where you are. I write because this is what make sense for me, imagining worlds where my husband John would admire, worlds where brides find the love of their lives in the most unexpected ways.

I write because this is what John made me promise before he passed away.

So, grab a cup of hot cocoa, settle into your favorite armchair, and let’s journey through the wild frontier of human emotions, one story at a time.