My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

4. Grace

FOUR

Grace

Of course… of course it had to be him.

I hunched in the corner booth, my eyes glued to the door as it slammed shut behind Clay. Damn it, of all people to get for Secret Santa, I pulled his name from the hat. A low curse slipped from my lips, but I shook off the irritation. No room in my head for Clay Hawthorne and his stormy exit.

I shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of the diner's glass windows at my back, the darkness beyond them pressing close, too close. It wasn't just the night playing tricks on me; the sensation of eyes drilling into my spine was relentless. The colorful Christmas lights outside were supposed to be comforting, twinkling merrily, but they were useless.

They couldn't light up the creeping shadows where anyone could be lurking.

“Hey, you okay?” the waitress asked, snapping me out of my thoughts as she dropped off a refill of coffee. It was Sandra Thompson, one of my old classmates, someone who should have been familiar and comforting. No chance of that; nothing comforted me these days.

“I’m fine,” I said, plastering on a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Just enjoying the party.”

But my gaze darted back to the window reflexively, scanning for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

“You sure?” she asked. “You look…well, a little sick. I know things like this can be overwhelming?—”

“I’m fine,” I repeated—and I knew I’d snapped at her when Sandra flinched. “Sorry, I just…yeah. It’s a lot. Thank you for understanding.”

She flashed me a smile. “Okay,” she said. “Just…take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Sandra left me with a fresh cup of coffee, then went back to socializing with more friendly townsfolk. Letting out a slow breath, I focused back on the party. Secret Santa was harmless fun, supposedly. Yet, here I was, drawing the name of the one guy in town who could get under my skin with a single scowl. The irony wasn't lost on me. But Clay and his glares would have to get in line.

I had bigger demons to fend off.

“Gotcha,” I muttered, snapping a photo of the Secret Santa exchange, tinsel-draped, laughter-spiked chaos. My fingers worked the old camera with ease, a relic from my shutterbug high school days I'd unearthed from my childhood closet. It felt good, grounding, to peer through that lens. Plus, it was the perfect distraction when I felt like I was about to get killed.

I could document my baby niece’s first Christmas while I waited for the axe to drop.

Mariah came over and sat next to me with a sigh. I was surprised she’d been up as much as she was; at this stage in her pregnancy, she was carrying a lot of weight around with her. She frowned and looked at the camera.

“Where’d you find that?” she asked. “I thought you left your camera in Boston.”

“Oh…it was in our old room’s closet. Guess Mom never cleaned it out.”

“Or she kept it for you to find later,” Mariah said. “She was thoughtful like that.”

“She was,” I nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I miss her.”

“Me too, especially this time of year,” Mariah said. “But at least I’ve got you. And, of course…everyone here. Speaking of which, I need to go talk to Betty, then we can split. You good here?”

I nodded. “Yep. I’ll just be taking photos.”

I lingered by the corner booth, the camera a reassuring weight in my hands. Silver Ridge used to sparkle with holiday cheer, but now? Every Christmas light seemed to be swallowed up by the creeping darkness just beyond their reach. It was like they were fighting a losing battle against the night, and every time I glanced out the window, I half-expected to see someone staring back. But there was only the void, mocking me.

“Time to call it a night?” Mariah's hand hit the table hard, and I damn near jumped out of my skin.

“Jesus, Mariah!” I snapped. “Warn a girl, will you?”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. Her eyes twinkled with that mischief I knew all too well. “You're so jumpy.”

“Just got a lot on my mind,” I muttered. “Let’s go, okay?”

I shoved the diner door open, my boots crunching on the fresh layer of snow. “You scared the hell out of me back there,” I grumbled.

“Aw, Grace, you know I didn't mean anything by it,” Mariah said. “Why are you so wound up? It's Christmas. Lighten up a bit, would you?”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, reaching the passenger side of her used sedan. I told her I hated that she’d been driving it around in this weather—but our only other option was my mom’s old truck, which handled way worse and had been handed down to me. Once we were both settled in the car, I turned to her, ready to unload another grievance. “And what's with pushing me into that Secret Santa nonsense? You know I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

Mariah rolled her eyes, turning the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, a familiar sound in the otherwise silent night. “It's just a bit of fun, Grace. No harm in it.”

“Fun?” I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Tell me where the fun is in drawing Clay's name? And did you see his face when he looked at me? He definitely drew mine. How fucking predictable.”

“Maybe it's fate,” she teased.

I wasn't having any of it. “Or maybe it's a nightmare before Christmas.”

“Come on, Gracie,” Mariah said, her tone softening as she navigated through the quiet town. “You can't let him get to you. It's been years.”

“Years,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Mariah…we had all these plans and he dumped me at prom . No warning. No reason. Just…gone, and he ruined everything.”

“I know, Gracie.”

“You don’t,” I said. “Or…shit, I’m sorry. I guess you know , but I don’t feel like you really get it. He broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry, really,” Mariah said. “I didn’t realize it was still so raw.”

“Raw or not, I'm not buying him a present,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on the passing shadows beyond the window. “Let him think I forgot, or better yet, that I don't care.”

Mariah sighed, her hands steady on the wheel. “Alright, have it your way. But we're home now, and I could really use some help with the tree.”

The house loomed as we pulled into the driveway, its windows dark except for the soft glow of the Christmas lights framing the roof. We unloaded ourselves from the car and stepped inside, shaking off the cold.

“Look, I get it, you're salty about the whole Secret Santa thing,” Mariah said while dragging the box of decorations from the closet. “But please, can we just try to enjoy tonight? It's lonely here without Colton, and you haven't been home in ages.”

That was fair; Mariah was spending the final months of her pregnancy alone thanks to her husband, Colton, getting a job offer he couldn’t turn down. They needed the money for the baby, and Colton had taken an ice trucking gig that kept him away.

She needed me…and I couldn’t get over myself.

“Fine,” I relented, unboxing an assortment of ornaments. “But I'm doing this for you, not for the spirit of Christmas or whatever.”

“Fair enough,” she replied, flashing me a grin before putting on an exaggerated pout. “I just wanted us to have fun together, like old times. Is that too much for a sister to ask?”

“Stop with the theatrics, Mariah.” I couldn't help but chuckle, though. “You know you've got me. Let's get this tree looking less pathetic.”

As we worked, hanging the ornaments and stringing the lights, I tried to push thoughts of Clay from my mind. Mariah hummed carols off-key and danced around the living room, her laughter filling the space.

“Better?” she asked, nudging me with her shoulder.

“Better,” I admitted. I strung another length of tinsel on the tree. “You know, being an auntie doesn't automatically make me Mary Poppins.”

“Of course not,” Mariah said as she placed a glass angel atop the tree. “I’m well aware you can’t do magic. But that won’t get you out of babysitting.”

“Ha-ha.” I forced a smile, but it didn’t change how anxious I was about this little girl’s future. The walls of our parents' house seemed to close in on me, each family photo a ghost of the past. I wanted so much more for the little one on the way—more than we’d had. My dad had taken too many risks, lost all our money, and gotten himself killed. Our family had barely survived after he passed.

Now, this house was filled with ghosts, no matter how much laughter Mariah provided.

“Besides,” Mariah continued, with a playful arch of her brow, “if you quit Secret Santa it will mess everything up and Betty will make us draw names again. Do you really want to be the weak link?”

“God forbid,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Wouldn't want to upset the Christmas gods—or worse, Betty.”

“Exactly!” Mariah grinned. “Now come on, let's finish this tree so we can break out the eggnog and toast to your impending auntie-ness.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, yanking the tinsel straight. “I'll get Clay a damn present.”

“That's the spirit, Grace. Kill him with kindness—or pettiness, your choice.”

“Could always gift-wrap a lump of coal.”

“Or you could not let him live rent-free in your head anymore.” She draped silver loops over a branch. “Just a thought.”

“Free or not, he's getting evicted tonight.” I reached for my camera, the vintage weight familiar in my hands. It was my shield, my way of hiding behind the lens when the world got too real. The viewfinder framed Mariah, ornaments glittering around her like she was part of the decor.

“Smile,” I instructed.

“Cheese!” Mariah hammed it up, striking a pose.

The shutter clicked, freezing the moment in time. This picture, this memory—it would last, unlike the fleeting holiday cheer.

“Got it.” I lowered the camera. “For the scrapbook.”

“Perfect,” she said, tilting her head to admire the tree. “Now, make sure to get one without me looking like a whale.”

“Impossible.” The corner of my mouth twitched. “You're about to pop.”

“Very funny.” She stuck her tongue out at me before turning serious. “Hey, are you really okay?”

“Never better,” I lied smoothly, tossing another ornament onto the tree.

If only shaking off my paranoia was as easy as hanging ornaments.

I hung the last silver bauble on the prickly pine branch, the tense muscles in my back finally unwinding a fraction. “Merry Christmas,” I grumbled, not quite feeling the cheer. But as I stared into the shiny silver, I thought I saw something move.

Fuck. They were here and they were going to hurt my sister?—

I spun around, my elbow clipping another ornament, which teetered dangerously. The tree wobbled, Mariah reaching out to hold it.

Okay…okay, it was just the cat.

His tail twitched as he mewed, slinking away with that smug look plastered across his furry face, having just jumped off the bookshelf. I hated how he always managed to make my nerves jump. Mariah, hands on hips, shot me a look that said she'd had enough of my skittishness. “Okay—seriously, Grace. You've been so jumpy since you got home. Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out harder than I meant it to. “Just not used to stealthy ninja cats anymore.”

“Right.” She didn't buy it—not for a second. Her eyes narrowed, a mix of sisterly concern and frustration etched into her features. “Grace, come on.”

“Look, Mariah, it's nothing. I'm just…out of practice with small-town life, that's all.” I avoided her gaze, picking up a fallen candy cane from the floor and slotting it back onto a branch. “Not used to people seeing me all the time, knowing who I am.”

“Out of practice or not, you're here now. And you're safe.” Her voice softened. “We should be able to enjoy this. It's Christmas. We're supposed to be…” she trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Jolly?” I suggested with a half-hearted smirk.

“Exactly. Jolly.”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Yeah. I can try to be jolly for once.”

“Grace,” she leaned in closer, “if something's wrong, you can tell me.”

“Nothing's wrong,” I insisted, though we both knew I was lying through my teeth. “Now, can we drop it and get back to decorating? Santa's watching, and I hear he gives extra points for enthusiasm.”

“Fine.” Mariah sighed, giving me a playful nudge as she went back to draping tinsel over the greenery. “But if you need to talk…”

“I know where to find you.” I cut in before she could finish, offering a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. “Thanks, sis.”