My Secret Santa Daddies (Silver Ridge Christmas)

7. Sierra

7

SIERRA

T he moment I step inside Millie’s Diner, I’m hit with an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. The warm, buttery smell of frying bacon and fresh pies instantly pulls me back to the times when this place used to feel like home—a time before everything got so complicated. The diner’s classic 1950s décor, with its red vinyl booths and black-and-white checkered floors, hasn’t changed a bit. Twinkling Christmas lights hang in the windows, and every corner of the room is buzzing with excitement as the town gathers for the annual Secret Santa drawing.

Cody holds the door open for me, his usual easy grin plastered across his face. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“It’s not bad yet. Let’s see what happens once everyone realizes I’m here.”

He chuckles, giving me a light nudge as we step further into the diner. I roll my eyes, tugging at the sleeves of my sweater. The hum of conversation swirls around us, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of coffee cups. Millie herself is moving from table to table, greeting everyone with that same infectious smile she’s had for as long as I can remember.

But just as Cody’s about to lead me toward one of the booths, Sheriff Tom Callahan catches his eye. “Cody! Haven’t seen you in a while, son. How’s everything going up at the lodge?”

Cody shoots me an apologetic look before turning to Tom, already getting pulled into a conversation about construction and permits. “It’s coming along,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Slow, but steady. Griffin’s got a hell of a job to do.”

I take a deep breath, letting the scent of freshly brewed coffee settle me.

This was a mistake. A terrible, inevitable mistake. I should’ve stayed home, holed up with my hot chocolate and a Hallmark movie instead of walking into the very heart of Silver Ridge’s holiday cheer.

Now I’m alone, smack in the middle of a place I once loved, surrounded by people I used to know, people who have probably noticed that I’ve been avoiding them like the plague for years.

Before I can think about bolting, Betty Thompson, the owner of Millie’s, spots me from behind the counter. Her eyes light up in surprise, and she waves me over. “Well, look who’s come out of hiding!”

My stomach twists, but I force a smile, making my way over to her. “Hey, Betty.”

She wipes her hands on her apron and gives me a tight, welcoming hug. “Sierra Bennett, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d show up to the Secret Santa again. It’s been, what, four years?”

“Yeah. Been a while.”

“Well, you’re here now, and that’s what counts. We’ve got so much yummy food, coffee, some adult punch and other stronger stuff behind the counter. The sugar cookies you baked are already almost gone.”

“Oh, I can run to the shop and bake some more. I have some dough in the freezer.”

“Oh, no, honey. You just relax.”

“Betty!” Ranger Lisa Morales, calls for her by the make-shift stage being set up. Man. They really do go all out for Christmas.

As I walk through the diner, I catch bits and pieces of conversation—people laughing, and joking about what ridiculous gifts they’re hoping to give or receive. And all the while, I can feel their eyes on me.

Not in a malicious way, just... curious. Like I’m a ghost who’s suddenly materialized after years of absence. They see me in the bakery all the time, but I make sure to stay busy so they can’t linger to ask me questions about Griffin, Cody or Wyatt.

I slide into one of the back booths, away from most of the crowd. The vinyl seat squeaks under me, and I can’t help but glance over at Cody, who is still deep in conversation with Sheriff Callahan. Typical. The moment we arrive, he gets sucked into small talk, leaving me to fend for myself. I can’t blame him, though. I knew what I was walking into when I agreed to this.

My eyes dance across each face.

People mill around, greeting one another with hugs and laughs, kids tug on their parents’ sleeves, excited about the drawing. The sense of community is almost overwhelming. Everyone knows everyone here. And that’s the problem.

No Griffin. Not yet at least. Maybe he won’t show up.

I don’t have time to move before Susan Harper spots me.

“You made it,” she says, her voice is warm but has a glint of pride beneath it. Before I can respond, she pulls me into a hug, and I melt for a second, letting the familiar comfort of her embrace wash over me.

“I didn’t think you would have let me skip this year.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up, but look at you, I was half expecting you to tell Cody to piss off.” Heat creeps up the back of my throat, remembering how the whole encounter went down. I bury the thought, hoping I might forget the whole thing.

Doubtful. Very doubtful.

Subconsciously, my gaze moves over to him. He looks handsome, tall and lean, his chestnut hair slightly tousled as he leans effortlessly against the brick mantle. His strong jawline and piercing hazel eyes make him almost intimidating.

His piercing gaze meets mine, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through my body.

Of the three, if one had to catch me touching myself, I’m glad it was Cody. He’s easy to be around and talk to for the most part.

“Oh, part of me wanted to tell him to piss off.”

“You’re going to survive tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t know about that.” I mutter.

Cody winks at me before he’s swept into another conversation. Great. Just great.

“Well, if it helps, I’m here. And plus, it’s always fun to get a gift from someone mysterious.”

Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the conversation.

“Oh, Dr. Harper! I’m so glad I caught you,” says Laura Tenor, the local innkeeper. She’s approaching us quickly, her brow furrowed with concern. “Do you have a minute? The arthritis wrist is acting up again, and I swear, it’s worse this time. Can you take a look?”

I glance at Susan, who gives me a small, apologetic smile before turning to Laura with that patient, professional tone she always uses. “Of course, Laura. It’s been a while since we looked it over, hasn’t it?”

Laura nods, holding out her wrist for inspection. “Yes, I know you said it was arthritis last time, but the pain’s been flaring up more lately. Especially with all the holiday decorating and guest bookings.”

Susan takes Laura’s wrist gently in her hands, her eyes narrowing in concentration. I step back slightly, feeling the edges of the conversation slipping away from me as they talk about treatments and remedies. It’s classic Silver Ridge—everyone always asking Susan for advice, always relying on her to fix things.

Laura glances at me briefly, offering a polite smile before focusing back on Susan. “I’m sorry, Sierra, we just keep Dr. Harper so busy around here,” she says with a slight laugh. “You know how these old bones of mine don’t want to cooperate.”

“No worries,” I say, offering a small smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I manage to slip away toward the corner of the diner where a refreshment table has been set up with cookies, punch, and candy canes. I grab a paper plate, load it up with a couple of sugar cookies, and pour myself a glass of punch, grateful for the few seconds of quiet away from all the eyes and chatter.

I sit down at one of the small tables by the window, watching the snow falling softly outside, casting a warm glow through the diner’s frosted glass. It’s nice—peaceful, almost. For the first time tonight, I feel like I can breathe.

That’s when a small voice interrupts my solitude.

“Can I sit with you?”

I look up to see a little boy standing by the table, holding a plate of cookies in one hand and a cup of punch in the other. His dark hair is a bit messy, and his big, wide eyes are full of curiosity. I smile, gesturing to the empty chair across from me.

“Of course. Seat’s open.”

He hops up into the chair, carefully setting his plate on the table before digging into his cookie with the focus only a kid can have. For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, sharing our cookies and punch, the buzz of the diner fades into the background.

“So, do you like Christmas cookies?” I ask.

The boy nods enthusiastically, his mouth full of crumbs. “Yeah! These are my favorite. My dad said we could have as many as we wanted tonight.”

“Your dad sounds like a cool guy.”

“He is, and I love everything about Christmas and all the magic.”

“The magic?”

“Santa!” he squeals.

I smile, but my heart aches at the innocence in his voice. “Oh, of course! How could I forget?”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I heard he might be here tonight.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.” Hank Garrison usually dressed up after the drawing for the kids.

“It’s a secret,” he says.

“What do you want him to bring you this year?”

He pauses, thinking it over. “I want a new bike—a red one with streamers and everything!”

“Well, have you been good this year?”

He nods, cramming another cookie into his mouth.

“Then I’m sure Santa might be able to find you that red bike. As long as your name is on his list.”

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Sierra. How about you?”

“Jack.”

And just like that, everything inside me stops.

The name hits me like a brick, and my stomach drops as I take a closer look at him. The messy dark hair, the eyes. The resemblance is undeniable, but it’s the name that pulls me back—back to when he was just a baby, back to a time before everything went wrong.

Griffin’s son.

I feel the air around me shift, suddenly heavier, and the flood of memories hits me all at once. I remember when Griffin brought Jack to visit the hospital after Anna died, how he held that tiny baby with such care, such love. How fragile Jack had seemed back then, so small in Griffin’s strong arms. And now, here he is—older—sitting across from me like none of the pain and loss had ever touched him.

The little boy who was supposed to grow up with Anna as his mom, the life that was ripped away before it even had a chance to fully form.

I glance around the diner, my heart racing as I realize Griffin must be here, somewhere. My fingers grip the edge of the table, steadying myself as I try to keep it together. I had come here tonight thinking I could handle it—thinking I could face the past. I was wrong.

Jack takes a sip of his punch, glancing up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “You’re nice,” he says, his voice sweet and genuine. “I like sitting with you.”

I swallow against the lump forming in my throat, nodding as I force another smile. “I like sitting with you too, Jack.”

But the words feel heavy, weighed down by all the things I can’t say, all the things I’ve never let myself feel. And just as I’m trying to steady my breath, I see movement from across the room.

Griffin.

He’s making his way through the crowd, searching for Jack. His gaze sweeps the diner, and then it locks on me.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else disappears. The noise, the chatter, the lights—it all fades, leaving just the two of us.

Jack’s father. My past. My heart.

Griffin’s eyes widen with recognition, shock and something else I can’t quite read. He starts to make his way over, dodging through the crowd.

But I can't do this. I can't face him now, not here, not in front of everyone. Not when my emotions are so raw, and my heart is hanging by a thread.

"Jack!" I say, my voice louder than intended. "I think your dad's looking for you."

He turns around and spots his father, waving enthusiastically before turning back to me with a grin. "Thanks for sitting with me, Sierra! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Jack," I manage to say as he darts off towards his dad.

I watch them go, my heart pounding in my chest as Griffin scoops him up in a tight hug, but before I can duck out, the ding of a bell echoes and there’s Betty fucking Thompson standing on a chair, staring straight at me.

“Everyone, the drawing is about to start. Sierra, will you come to do the honors of holding Santa’s hat?”

My cheeks flush as the entire diner stares at me, waiting. And I know is there's no way out. Not now.

Shit.

My heart’s pounding in my chest as Betty’s voice cuts through the noise, singling me out. Of course. Of all the people in this diner, she had to pick me.

“Come on, Sierra! Get up there, honey,” Laura Benor calls to me, waving me over with that bright, knowing smile of hers. Everyone’s watching now. The warm hum of conversation has turned into a low murmur as all eyes shift in my direction.

I don’t have time to think about how to escape. The only option is to move, to pretend like this is no big deal, like my heart isn’t about to jump out of my chest. I push myself up from the booth and make my way over to Betty, plastering a smile on my face that feels tight, and forced.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Betty says, pressing the oversized, red velvet Santa hat into my hands. “You hold the hat for the drawing!”

I swallow hard, taking the hat from her. The room feels too warm, too close. All I can think about is how Griffin’s eyes are probably still on me, how the entire diner is waiting for me to pull a name, to play along in this little holiday tradition like nothing’s wrong. Like I’m not seconds away from a full blown meltdown.

“Since Sierra’s doing the honor of holding Santa’s hat. She get’s to go first. Then Mayor Gregory.”

I reach into the hat, my fingers brushing against the folded pieces of paper inside, each one bearing the name of someone in town. I pull one out and unfold it, my eyes scanning the name written in bold, black ink.

Griffin.

Of course. It couldn’t have been anyone else. Not when I’ve spent all this time avoiding him, avoiding everything about the past.

I glance toward the booth where Jack is now sitting with Griffin, laughing, completely oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. Griffin’s eyes catch mine for a brief moment, something unreadable flashes across his face. I turn away before I can get lost in it.

I need to breathe. I need to get out of here.

But there’s no escape, not now. Not with Griffin’s name burning in my pocket, reminding me that no matter how hard I try to outrun the past, it always finds its way back to me.