My Secret Santa Axton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

1. Brooding Crush

Brooding Crush

MEL

I feel Axton's eyes on me before I even see him .

It's like a physical touch, warm and heavy, sending a chill through my body that I desperately try to ignore. I plaster on my brightest smile, focusing on the mother and daughter in front of me as I adjust a glittery scarf around the girl's neck.

"Oh, sweetie, that color brings out your eyes beautifully," I gush, meeting the mother's gaze with a conspiratorial wink. "What do you think, mom? Perfect for the holiday pageant, right?"

The girl twirls, her face lighting up as she admires her reflection. But even as I laugh and clap, my awareness of him lingers like a shadow at the edge of my vision.

I guide the mother and daughter to the register, but my attention keeps drifting to the corner. Axton O'Connor stands there, a silent statute in my mother's shop. His presence fills the space, impossible to ignore.

He's all hard lines and rugged strength. Broad shoulders strain against his flannel shirt, hinting at the power beneath. His strong jaw is set, a day's worth of stubble adding to his rough appeal. Scars mark his face and hands, each one a story I long to hear.

My eyes trace the curve of his bicep as he crosses his arms, and I swallow hard. It's unfair how good he looks just standing there, doing nothing.

But it's his eyes that truly capture me. Those piercing green orbs watch my every move with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. There's something in that gaze I can't quite decipher, but it sets all my senses off nonetheless.

I talk with the pair about the upcoming festivities in town, and they fill me in on their holiday plans and the unseasonably warm weather. Anything to keep my mind off the man whose presence fills the room like smoke. As I ring up their purchase, I allow myself one quick glance in his direction.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Axton's green eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I'm lost.

I hate how my insides don't know how to behave at the sight of him.

"Miss Melanie?" The girl's voice snaps me back to reality. "Can I wear it out of the store?"

I blink, and drag my gaze from Axton. The smile on her face makes me smile back.

"Of course, sweetheart. You look too fabulous to take it off now."

Her mother pays, and the bell above the door chimes merrily as they leave. I take a deep breath. Suddenly, the shop feels too small, too warm, with just Axton and me left inside.

This is what we have done since his return. We stare, pant, and argue. So, instead of starting an argument, I busy myself straightening a display of ornaments, hyper-aware of his gaze following my every move.

In his ice king mode.

I fix the display and refold all the clothes the little girl tried on, and Axton is still a silent giant. Somehow, I forgot he can do this for a lifetime.

I want to scream, to demand he say something— anything —to break this maddening tension. Instead, I find myself filling the quiet with nervous chatter, as if having a conversation with myself.

"Well, hello there, Mr. O'Connor," I say brightly, not looking at him as I rearrange a pile of mittens. "What a surprise it is to see you here on this fine afternoon. Come to do some early Christmas shopping, have you?"

I pause as if waiting for a response I know won't come.

"Oh, just browsing? Well, we've got some lovely new scarves in. I'm sure we could find something to bring out those pretty green eyes of yours."

I risk a glance his way, catching the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It only fuels my madness, spurring me to continue this one-sided banter.

"Axton, this is insane. You know that. Right?"

Blink. Blink.

" Fine . I can carry on for both of us. How about we discuss the weather? Unseasonably warm, don't you think? Or maybe you'd prefer a riveting conversation about... I don't know, demolitions? That's your thing, right? Blowing stuff up?"

I turn to face him fully now, hands on my hips. "No? Nothing? You're really gonna stand there like some brooding statue and not say a word?"

Axton's expression softens slightly, a flicker of what might be amusement—or is it regret raging in those eyes? But still, he remains silent.

I throw my hands up in mock exasperation. "Fine, have it your way. I'll just be over here, talking to myself like a crazy person. Feel free to jump in anytime, big guy."

You wouldn't believe it, but we used to be friends. Best friends.

We'd talk—yes, we—talk for hours about stars, flowers, particles of dust, nothing .

Until he left for the military and when he finally returned a few months ago. I didn't get by my friend. I got back a man who looks like my Axton, but doesn't behave like my Axton, and he didn't write a single letter, as promised.

I have the man I've wanted since I was thirteen, right here in our shop. But he's as far away as ever. And I don't know why.

Turning back to my work, I mutter, "Lord, give me strength to deal with stubborn, silent men who can't use their words."

I hear a soft chuckle behind me, so quiet I almost think I imagined it. But when I whirl around, Axton's face is as impassive as ever. He gives me a small nod, then pushes off the wall and heads for the door.

"Leaving so soon?" I call after him, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Don't let me keep you from your important brooding schedule."

He pauses at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he might say something. But then he just offers me that same small, almost apologetic smile before slipping out into the crisp November air.

The bell chimes again, somehow managing to sound melancholy this time. I lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted.

"Well, that was real smooth, Mel. Real smooth."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to center myself. This push-and-pull with Axton has been going on for months since he came back to town.

Every time I think we might be getting somewhere, he retreats behind that wall of silence as if he doesn't trust himself to tell me what's going on in that head of his. And every time, I'm left feeling like a fool for hoping that one day he'll give me back my heart.

Opening my eyes, I catch sight of my reflection in the antique mirror hanging nearby. The woman staring back at me looks tired and a little heartbroken, but there's too much living to do.

I used to laugh at Mamma when she said that. But the older I get, the more I understand. Purpose causes the mundane task to fall away, and what's left are the things we hold dear.

Family. Friendships. Laughter. Love . And I have all but one.

Yes, I have the love of my family and friends. But my heart yearns for the love that Axton once promised me.

"Alright, Melanie Peterson," I say to my reflection, squaring my shoulders. "This is it. You're giving him until Christmas. If he can't make this situation right, you have to move on. You hear me? Done."

I nod, agreeing with the woman in the mirror nodding back at me.

Yeah, I'm losing my damn mind. But the pact is made.

I turn away, focusing on the closing tasks because Mr. O'Connor will remain outside until I'm securely in my truck and headed back to the ranch.

As I move around Steph's Consignment Shop, in Silver Ridge, Montana. Stephanie Peterson's my mamma, and we run this place with a few employees supporting the Silver Ridge Women's Shelter.

Mamma founded it a few years after we moved her. She wanted to help women in need find a safe place to heal and get back on their feet. I oversee both locations so that Daddy, Joseph Peterson, could run the family ranch, and Mamma could drive from town to town, bringing her heart babies home.

My folks—Steph and Big Bear—are the most loving and kind people you'll ever meet, and I'm loved without question, but lately, I've wanted more. And that wanting strategically ignited when Axton O'Connor returned to Silver Ridge.

I finish straightening displays and counting the till. I try to push thoughts of Axton from my mind. But tonight, he almost cracked a smile.

"Lord," I whisper, more a sigh than a prayer, "give me the strength to walk away if I need to. And maybe, if you're feeling generous, give that man a kick in the pants and get him to open his heart and let me in."

I stare at the Black Santa chilling in the corner and decide to hand in my request with him too.

"It's the only gift I want since I have everything I need."

Black Santa is shady AF because he just stares like Axton.

"Well, damn. I'm shooting a zero for two."

The shop is quiet now, save for the soft ticking of the old clock on the wall. Each second feels like it's counting down to... something . An ending or a beginning, I'm not sure which.

All I know is that come Christmas, one way or another, things will change. The thought sends a shiver of anticipation and—a smidgen of fear—through me. But as I flip the sign to 'Closed' and lock up for the night, I'm ready for what life has for me.

Whatever happens, I won't spend another year waiting for Axton O'Connor to make up his mind. It's time for both of us to face the music.

I've made my prayer request, and I submitted my wish to Black Santa.

All I want for Christmas is Axton .