My Secret Santa Daddies (Silver Ridge Christmas)

11. Cody

11

CODY

T he next morning, the storm still hasn’t let up. Snow piles high against the windows, thick drifts bury the driveway and cover the lodge’s porch. The wind howls through the trees, shaking the pines like they might snap at any moment

I stand in the kitchen, clutching a steaming mug of coffee, staring out at the whiteout conditions beyond the frosted glass.

“This storm doesn’t seem real.”

Wyatt’s beside me, working his way through his third cup of coffee, looking like he’s still got half the night’s sleep clinging to him.

“Storm of a century, they’re calling it.”

“Hope the rest of town is alright.”

Griffin leans against the counter, his jaw tight. “Most of them are used to it.”

It’s the same story as last night—heavy snow warnings, gusting winds, and the promise that the storm isn’t going anywhere for at least another twenty-four hours. Maybe longer. They’re throwing around terms like historic and record-breaking.

I take a sip of my coffee. Jack is in the next room, consumed by a pile of brightly colored Legos.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck for a bit. At least we’ve got enough food.”

Wyatt grunts. “We might be the only place in Silver Ridge with power right now.”

“Generator’s got enough juice for a couple more days.”

“But this much snow, we’ll be lucky if we can even dig our way out by the time it’s done.”

I nod, casting a glance toward the stairs, listening for any sign of Sierra upstairs. It’s been a strange thing, having her back here.

Over and over, my mind keeps seeing her laid out on her bed. Her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess of gold. Those long legs all tangled up in the bed sheets.

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind.

“So, what’s the plan, boss?” I ask Griffin, wondering if he still thinks doing this ourselves was the right move. The man could’ve built five new lodges, all twice the size of this place and not put a dent in his bank account.

“For now? We wait it out. Keep an eye on the weather report. If there’s no sign of the storm letting up, we can always head down to the city?—”

He breaks off as Sierra appears at the top of the stairs, her hair still damp from a shower, wearing one of Griffin’s sweatshirts that swallows her up and a pair of leggings that hug her curves in all the right places. My eyes linger on her ass before drifting away guiltily. Fuck. I clear my throat.

Wyatt’s gaze goes straight to Sierra, as if drawn there by instinct, and it lingers a moment too long. It’s not subtle, the way he looks at her—intense, assessing. And Sierra?

She glances back at him, just a flicker of blue eyes, but it’s enough to make the air in the room shift. There’s a familiarity there, a charged undercurrent I can’t quite put my finger on.

I frown, feeling a twinge of something I can’t name. Did something happen between them? My jaw tightens as I watch the exchange. It’s not jealousy, not exactly—at least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s more… curiosity. Maybe a little annoyance. But I know Wyatt well enough to recognize that look. It’s a look I’ve seen before.

I set my mug down on the counter, the sound breaking through the silence. Wyatt’s eyes flick to me, and he quickly looks away, like he’s been caught.

Griffin is choosing to be oblivious.

“Morning,” I say.

Sierra pulls her gaze away from Wyatt, blinking rapidly as if trying to shake something off.

“Morning.” She crosses her arms over her chest, biting her bottom lip as she stares outside. “How’s it looking?”

Griffin sighs, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Not great. Storm’s still going strong, and there’s no way the roads will be clear before tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Maybe longer,” Wyatt adds, tossing a look my way. “Depends on how bad it gets.”

Sierra’s shoulders sag in frustration. “Great,” she mutters under her breath, more to herself than to any of us. “Just perfect.”

“Sierra!” Jack bounds into the room, his small boots clomping against the floor, his cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the fire or maybe just the energy he’s always got to burn.

Sierra’s eyes widen at the sight of him, surprise flashing across her face. “Jack—hey, buddy,” she says, and I don’t miss the way her voice softens, just a little. It’s like seeing the kid melts some of the tension she’s been carrying since she got here.

Jack skids to a stop right in front of her, practically vibrating with excitement. “Did you see the snow outside? It’s so big! Dad says it’s the most snow he’s ever seen. And I’m going to build a fort with Uncle Cody! You should help us build one!”

He’s barely pausing for breath, the words tumbling over each other in that way kids do. Sierra glances at Griffin; he’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold, his face caught somewhere between amusement and something unreadable. But he doesn’t intervene, just lets Jack run with it.

Sierra bends down a bit, crouching to Jack’s level.

“I’d love to help, Jack,” she says, and it’s the most genuine thing I’ve heard from her since she arrived. “But we’ll have to wait until the snow stops, okay?”

Jack’s face lights up, like her agreeing to help is the best news he’s heard all week. “Okay! And maybe we can make a snowman too! A big one! Like, taller than Dad!”

She laughs softly at that, a sound that’s warm and unexpected.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her laugh.

“Sure,” she says, glancing up at Griffin, who’s still watching with that same intense focus. “We’ll make the biggest snowman in all of Silver Ridge. Deal?”

Jack nods, throwing his arms around her in an impulsive hug, and Sierra stiffens for just a second before she relaxes, letting herself return the embrace. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it tugs at something deep inside me, and makes me think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for this mess to feel like home again. Even if it’s just for a little while.

Griffin shifts beside me, clearing his throat, but he doesn’t interrupt, just keeps his arms folded as he watches them. Jack pulls back from Sierra with a bright grin, oblivious to the tension simmering between the adults. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

The words hang there, and Sierra’s smile falters, just a little, her eyes dart back toward the window where the snow keeps falling in thick, endless drifts. I catch the way her jaw tightens, and the flicker of something that looks like pain flashing across her face before she schools her expression back into neutrality.

“Yeah.”

Jack beams up at her, oblivious to the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. He’s already turning back to Griffin, tugging on his sleeve. “Can we make pancakes now, Dad? Please? I want to show Sierra how to make the best ones!”

Griffin glances at me, then at Sierra, his expression still guarded. But he nods, forcing a small smile onto his face. “Yeah, buddy. Let’s make pancakes.”

Sierra straightens, her gaze shifting between Griffin and me, and for a moment, I think she might go back to her room, to put distance between us again. But Jack’s excitement is infectious, and maybe the prospect of something normal, something that isn’t wrapped in old hurt and awkward silences, is enough to keep her here for a little while longer.

Griffin starts pulling out the pancake mix, watching Jack with a small, genuine smile on his face. “Alright, champ, you get to be my sous-chef. You ready?”

Jack nods enthusiastically, bouncing on his toes. “Can I crack the eggs, Dad?”

“You bet,” Griffin says, handing him a bowl. He shoots a quick glance at Sierra, his voice softer. “Just… try not to get shells in there this time, okay?”

Jack giggles. “I won’t, I promise!”

Griffin waits for Jack to crack one egg then cracks a second one into the bowl in one quick motion, his focus entirely on the task at hand. “Alright, Jack, keep stirring that, but slow it down a bit. We don’t want pancake batter on the ceiling.”

Jack giggles, his little hand gripping the whisk like he’s on a mission. “I got this, Dad!”

Sierra stands beside him, her arms crossed, a playful look of skepticism on her face. “Not bad for a novice, Griffin. But let’s see if you can actually get them fluffy.”

“I’ve been making pancakes for five years straight, Sierra. I think I can handle it.”

“Pancakes don’t count as a specialty,” she retorts, stepping closer to the counter. “Especially not to a baker.”

“Oh, we’re going there?” I ask, taking a seat near the kitchen island. “You’re really gonna throw down with the Pancake King, Sierra?”

“I’m not just throwing down, Cody. I’m offering a masterclass.” She takes a whisk from the counter and starts to help Jack. “Watch this, buddy. You want to fold gently, like this, so the batter stays light.”

Jack’s eyes widen, and he tries to mimic her motions, his tongue sticking out in concentration. “Like that?”

“Exactly like that. You’ve got potential, kiddo. Though next time we won’t use pancake mix.”

“What’s wrong with pancake mix?” Griffin asks looking offended.

“It’s overly processed and not nearly as good as homemade.”

Griffin turns to me looking helpless. I shrug.

“She’s the expert.”

“Expert pain in my ass,” Griffin mutters.

“Pain in my ass,” Jack repeats softly to himself. Griffin pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment, and Sierra and I start laughing loudly.

“You can’t say that, buddy,” I try to get out through laughter.

“Ass!” Jack shouts with more confidence.

“Jack, remember that’s an adult word. You can’t say that.”

“I can see you’re a great influence,” Sierra says, taking the ladle and expertly pouring perfect circles of batter onto the hot griddle. The smell of sizzling pancakes quickly fills the room.

“It’s his Uncle Cody and Wyatt,” Griffin sighs.

“Yeah. I’m sure it is.”

After a few minutes, Sierra sets a stack in front of me, and hands me a fork.

I whistle, leaning back in my chair. “If I knew you could make pancakes like that, I would’ve shown up at your bakery more often.”

Sierra rolls her eyes, flipping the pancakes with ease. “You still can, Cody. It’s not like you need an invitation.”

Jack bounces excitedly on his toes, peeking over the counter. “Can we add more chocolate chips in mine?”

“Well, that’s up to your dad. He seems to be the pancake expert around here.”

“Go ahead,” Griffin concedes, shaking his head with a grin. “But if they turn into chocolate-chip cakes, I’m blaming you.”

“Jesus, you two sound like an old married couple,” I mutter.

Sierra pauses for a beat, her cheeks flushing slightly as she flips another pancake. “We’re just making breakfast, Cody. Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, it’s already weird, but at least it smells amazing.”

Griffin slides another pancake onto the growing stack, nodding toward Sierra. “So, what’s the secret, really? You add something special?”

“Just a little vanilla and some love,” she says lightly, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in her tone, like she’s trying not to read too much into the moment. “It’s not that complicated.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Griffin mutters, his eyes meeting hers for just a second longer than necessary.

There’s a brief, charged silence, broken only by Jack’s impatient voice. “Can we eat now?”

Sierra hands him a small plate, and ruffles his hair again. “Go ahead, kiddo. Dig in.”

Griffin watches as Jack takes a messy bite, chocolate smearing across his cheeks. “Looks like you’ve won this round, Sierra.”

She arches an eyebrow, smiling as she wipes chocolate from Jack’s face. “It’s not a competition, Griffin.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” I interject. “Everything’s a competition with you two.”

“Shut up, Cody,” they say in unison, which only makes me laugh harder. They turn and glare at one another before returning to their pancakes. You’d have to be blind not to see the attraction between these two. They were like magnets.

“Maybe one day you’ll realize I’m just better at making breakfast than you are,” Sierra says, taking her own plate and sitting by Jack.

“This is ridiculous,” Griffin mutters, staying near the stove.

I grab a mug from the counter and fill it with coffee, holding it out to Sierra. “Here. Coffee. It’s hot, and you look like you could use it.”

She hesitates for a second, her gaze locking with mine, but then she takes the mug, her fingers brushing against mine. “Thanks, Cody.”

“Anytime,” I say, with a teasing grin. “And hey—try to enjoy being stuck with us. We’re not that bad.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips as she takes a sip of the coffee, steam curling up around her face.

The next two days pass in a blur of hammers, sawdust, and the constant, rhythmic beat of the falling snow landing against the windows and on the ground.

Griffin, Wyatt, and I spent most of our time in the lodge’s half-finished rooms, focusing on whatever we can while the storm outside raged on.

Sierra mostly keeps to herself, focusing on time with Jack or disappearing into her room after meals. But every now and then, I’d catch glimpses of her when she thought no one was looking. She wasn’t avoiding us as much as I thought she might, though. At least not entirely.

The place was also starting to feel a little more like a home and less like a construction site. At least, when we weren’t tripping over the tools scattered around on the floors, or cursing at the ancient wiring that refused to cooperate.

On the third morning, I make my way downstairs early, expecting the usual quiet stillness.

I glance out the window as I pour a cup of coffee, the snow was still coming down hard. Another full day of white, but I can feel it in my bones—the storm was starting to ease.

I’m taking my first sip of coffee when Sierra and Jack appear at the top of the stairs, covered in dust and grinning like they’d just found a treasure trove.

“Look what we found!” Jack shouts, his little voice full of excitement as he clutches an old cardboard box that’s almost bigger than him, to his chest. “Christmas stuff!”

Sierra follows behind him, her hands full of a tangled string of old Christmas lights and what looks like a bunch of faded garlands. Her face is flushed and smiling. For a second, it feels like a different version of her.

“We went up to the attic and found some old decorations,” she says, her voice a little breathless, and a spark in her eyes that hasn’t been there the last few days. “I figured, since we’re stuck here and it’s still snowing... maybe it’s time to bring some Christmas cheer into this place.”

I raise an eyebrow, setting my coffee down on the counter as I lean back against the kitchen island. “You want to decorate the lodge?”

Sierra shrugs, a little self-conscious as she looks down at the box in Jack’s hands. “Yeah. Why not? The place could use some cheer, don’t you think? And I mean it’s not fair to Jack.”

“Sure. You’re doing it for the kid.”

“Shut up!”

“Dad! We’re decorating!”

Griffin steps into the room, rubbing the back of his neck as he surveys the pile of decorations with a furrowed brow. “We’re still knee-deep in renovations bud. The place is a mess,”

Jack’s little face takes on a puppy dog expression and his eyes are full of pleading as he looks up at his dad. “Please, Dad! Can we? Sierra says we can make it look like Santa’s workshop!”

I stifle a laugh at Griffin’s hesitation. Jack has a way of getting what he wants, and Griffin knows it. With a sigh, Griffin shakes his head, unable to resist his kid’s enthusiasm. “Alright. But no climbing up on anything, Jack.”

By midday, the main room’s strung with lights and garlands, while the slightly musty scent of pine fills the air from the old wreaths. By the time Jack and Sierra are done, the place looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting—if Norman Rockwell had ever imagined a half-finished lodge covered in construction dust.

Sierra steps back, hands on her hips as she surveys the room. “Not bad,” she says, her voice full with quiet satisfaction.

She pulls more decorations out of the box, her mood all morning has been noticeably lighter. It was almost strange, seeing her like this—relaxed, playful even. “It’s too bad we don’t have a Christmas tree.”

“There’s nowhere to put it,” Griffin grumbles as he passes by them in the hall. “This place is already crammed with tools and junk.”

“Who knew we had the Grinch with us,” Wyatt says, poking at the fire, his face lighting up with a grin.

I can’t help myself. Smiling widely, I belt out “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” making sure my voice echoes through the lodge. “Your heart’s an empty hole!”

Griffin shouts back from the kitchen. “Cody, shut up! ”

Wyatt chuckles, and Sierra shakes her head, her smile lingering as she glances between us. Jack’s excitement only grows at the idea of a tree, and his eyes go wide with hope.

“There is one more big box up in the attic,” Sierra says, her voice thoughtful. “It was too heavy for me to carry down by myself. Maybe there’s a tree in there, Jack?”

Jack’s eyes light up, like he’s found a hidden treasure. “I hope so! Then we can decorate it with a star!”

I laugh and wipe my hands on a rag before turning to her. “Once I’m done laying the backsplash tile, I’ll grab the box for you, alright?”

“Thanks, Cody.”

She smiles down at Jack. “Let’s hope it’s not another box full of tinsel.”

By the time night falls, Wyatt and Griffin have already turned in, worn out from the day’s work. Jack’s tucked into bed, still talking about finding the Christmas tree and Sierra and I head up to the attic.

Cold air greets us as soon as we open the door to the attic, our breaths turn into mist. I climb up first, navigating the half-broken ladder that creaks under my weight, then reach down to help Sierra up. The attic is dim with shadows casting long lines across the cluttered space, but there it is—a large, dusty box pushed into the far corner amid a bunch of other junk. I pull the string on the single bulb over my head. It flickers on.

“Jesus, this place needs to be cleaned out.”

“That’s it,” Sierra says, pointing to the box. “It’s heavier than it looks.”

“Good thing you’ve got me for the heavy lifting.”

“I’ll lock you up in here with all this old creepy furniture.”

“Go ahead and try.”

Together, we maneuver the box through the narrow attic opening, and once we get it to the living room, the contents don’t disappoint.

It’s not a full tree, but a nice-sized artificial one with a real wood trunk, still in pretty good condition, with plenty of ornaments and lights packed underneath. Sierra’s face lights up as she pulls out a few old, handmade decorations—things that have probably been in the lodge for decades.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a tree after all,” I say, nudging her shoulder.

“Jack’s going to be thrilled. Help me set it up.”

I haul the thing out of the box and get it upright, stringing the lights in silence together. There’s something easy about being with her like this—no tension, no awkward history hanging between us, just two people sharing a moment of normalcy. I glance at her as she hooks an ornament onto one of the branches, her face bathed in the glow of the lights.

“You know,” I say, breaking the quiet, “you’re not so bad at this whole Christmas thing.”

“Thanks, I try.”

As we finish hanging the last of the ornaments, Sierra reaches into the bottom of the box and pulls out something small and green. She stares at it for a moment, her expression shifting as she turns it over in her hands.

“Mistletoe,” she murmurs.

“Should we hang it?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “I mean, I guess. It’s here…” Sierra’s voice trails off, almost like she’s unsure of herself, but she steps toward the doorway anyway, mistletoe in hand. I watch her move, the soft glow of the lights cast shadows across her face, her lips are pressed into that determined line I’ve seen too many times before.

“Let me grab the ladder,” I offer, already moving toward it. But she holds up a hand, stopping me.

“No need. I’ve got it.”

I hesitate, eyeing the flimsy ladder we’ve been using all week for everything else like the dumb men we are. “You sure? I don’t trust that thing. It’s old as hell.”

Sierra rolls her eyes but flashes me that same smirk, the one that says she’s going to do whatever she damn well pleases. “It’s just a doorway.”

“But the ceiling is twelve feet high. You nearly fell just hanging those lights earlier. Let me?—”

“Cody, I’m hanging a piece of mistletoe, not scaling a mountain.”

I clench my jaw, watching as she starts to climb, each creak of the wood making my heart race a little faster. I don’t want to hover, but I sure as hell don’t want to see her hit the floor, either.

“Yeah, well, humor me,” I mutter, stepping closer, keeping my hands ready in case that ladder gives way.

She’s already up there, standing on the top rung, stretching to hook the mistletoe on the beam above the doorway. Her fingers are nimble, and for a second, I think maybe she’ll get away with it, that she’ll manage this without any trouble.

But then it happens.

As soon as she starts to climb down, her foot slips, and the ladder shifts under her weight. She gasps, her arms flailing, and everything seems to slow down in a heartbeat of panic.

“Shit—Sierra!”

I don’t think—I just move. My arms shoot out, grabbing her just as her body tumbles toward me. Sierra lands against my chest, hard enough to knock the breath out of both of us.

For a second, neither of us moves, her chest is pressed against mine, her breath is warm on my neck, her heart is pounding just as fast as mine. I keep my arms tight around her waist, holding her steady as the shock of the fall lingers in the air between us.

She’s close—so damn close. I can feel the heat of her body through her sweater, the way her breath comes out, shallow, and quick. It’s enough to make me dizzy. My hands tighten, instinctively keeping her from pulling away, even though she’s caught, safe.

Her lips part, and she looks up at me, wide-eyed and breathless, her cheeks flushed from more than just the fall. The fire from the hearth flickers in her eyes, making her look softer, and more vulnerable than I’ve seen her in a long time.

“I told you,” she whispers, her voice barely more than a breath. “I had it.”

I chuckle softly, the sound rough with all the adrenaline still coursing through me. “Yeah, it sure looked like it.”

She tries to push away, but I don’t let her go just yet. My hands stay on her waist, keeping her there, close enough that I can still feel the warmth of her breath on my skin. Her fingers curl into my shirt, whether to steady herself or because she doesn’t want to let go, I’m not sure.

“Cody,” she says softly, her gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth and back again. Her voice isn’t sharp anymore—it’s hesitant, like she’s torn between pushing me away and pulling me closer.

My heart is pounding so hard, it feels like the only sound in the room. “Sierra…”

The mistletoe still hangs above us, swaying slightly, and it’s enough to make me smile despite the tension thrumming between us. I glance up at it, then back at her, my grip on her waist tightening just slightly.

“You know what this means, right?” I say, my voice is low, and teasing, but the air feels thick with something far more serious than a joke.

I don’t wait this time. I lean in, my lips brushing against hers, tentative at first, wondering if she’ll pull away. But she doesn’t. She leans into me, her lips soft and warm as she kisses me back, and it’s like the world tilts on its axis, like everything that’s been pent up between us crashes into this moment.

My hand slides up her back, tangling in her hair as I deepen the kiss, tasting the sweetness of her lips, the hint of peppermint on her tongue. Sierra's arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer, erasing any last shred of space between us. The kiss turns heated, urgent, like we're both trying to pour everything we can't say into this one moment.

Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently, and a groan escapes my throat, muffled against her mouth. I want to lift her up, carry her to the couch, lay her down and have my way.

After seeing her the other morning, it’s all I’ve thought about.

I’ve been consumed with the idea of fucking her.

I want to lay her out and explore every inch of her skin. But I force myself to slow down, to savor the feel of her lips against mine, and the way her body molds perfectly to my own.

Sierra's the one to finally break the kiss, pulling back just enough to catch her breath. Her eyes are dark and hazy with desire as she looks up at me. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to dive right back in, to lose myself completely in her.

"Cody..." she whispers, and the sound of my name on her tongue sends a shiver down my spine. Her fingers are still tangled in my hair, and she doesn't let go, or try to put any distance between us.

"Yeah?" I murmur back, my forehead is resting against hers, and my hands are still splayed across her back, holding her close.

She hesitates, like she's not sure how to navigate this moment any more than I am. "This is... we shouldn't..."

But even as she says it, her body arches into mine, betraying her real feelings. I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater, I can feel the way her heart is pounding just as hard as mine.

"Sierra," I breathe out, my lips brushing against her temple. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this, and I will."

She shivers against me, her fingers tightening in my hair as she tilts her head back, exposing the soft skin of her throat. I trail my lips down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling her pulse jump beneath my tongue.

"I can't," she whispers, her voice breaking on the words. "I can't tell you to stop."

That's all the permission I need. I capture her mouth again, into a deeper, hungrier kiss. Sierra meets me with equal fervor, her tongue sliding against mine, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip. I groan into her mouth as my hands slide down to cup her ass, pulling her impossibly closer.

We stumble backwards, still tangled up in each other, until the back of my legs hit the couch. I sit down hard, pulling Sierra with me so she's straddling my lap, her knees bracketing my hips. She gasps at the sudden change in position, breaking the kiss to stare down at me, her eyes wide and dark with want.

"Fuck, Sierra," I growl, my hands gripping her hips, holding her in place. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

She rolls her hips in response, grinding down against the hardness straining against my jeans.

The creak of the old floorboards cuts through the haze between us, and Sierra freezes, her lips still against mine. We both pull away, breathing hard.

Her eyes dart toward the ceiling, panic flickering in them as the footsteps grow louder. She scrambles off my lap quickly, her hand slipping from my chest, and before I can say anything, she’s already turning away.

“I— I should go,” she stammers, her voice low and shaky. Without meeting my eyes, she bolts for the stairs, leaving me sitting on the couch, hard as a mother fucking rock.