Page 15 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“No, no,” she said. “First the Secret Santa selection—thenthe kickoff party, then the gift exchange. You’ve gotta go to all three.”

I shook my head slowly. “Betty, you know parties aren't my thing.”

“Nonsense. You need to get out more, see folks. Can't have you cooped up all holiday season,” she pressed on.

“Appreciate the concern, but I'm fine on my own.”

“Fine? That's no way to live. It'll be good for you, Clay. I miss seeing your face around, and it wouldn't kill you to put a smile on it once in a while.” Betty’s voice softened, a velvet hammer driving home her point. “You're part of this town, like it or not.”

“Alright, alright, you win. I'll think about it,” I conceded—not because I wanted to go, but because I knew Betty wouldn't let it go otherwise.

“Plus, I want to show off the new bar you put up,” Betty beamed, her hands on her hips as she surveyed me with an expectant look. “You did such a good job; it's only right you're there to take the credit.”

“Credit?” I chuckled and leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “For what? A few planks of wood and some screws?”

“Clay Hawthorne, don't you play modest with me. That bar was falling apart, and now look at it. Solid as a rock. You've got skills, and it's high time you stopped hiding them.”

“Skills won't keep me company,” I grumbled, glancing away from Betty's piercing gaze.

“Who knows, you might meet a pretty girl at the party. Someone who doesn't know your grumpy face as well as I do.”

“Pretty girl?” I snorted. “I know every soul in this town, Betty. There's no one…well, no one I'm interested in.”

“Let the boy be, Betty,” came a voice from behind the grill—Betty’s husband, Sam. “He's just fine how he is.”

“Sam, you stay out of this,” she shot back without missing a beat, but the edges of her lips fought a smile. “This is between me and Clay.”

“Between you and half the town, seems like,” Tom replied with a hearty laugh that filled the diner. “Always setting folks up, aren't you?”

“Only because someone has to,” she retorted, hands now firmly planted on her apron-clad waist.

They went at it then, the kind of bickering only a long-lasting couple can pull off. It was almost comforting to watch, like an old sitcom rerun where you knew all the lines but laughed anyway.

“Been like this since high school,” I mused to myself, feeling Bear's head rest against my leg, seeking a scratch or maybe just some stability amidst the marital crossfire.

“Tell me you'll be there, Clay. Promise me,” Betty said, her eyes drilling into mine like she was trying to hypnotize me.

“Fine, Betty, fine,” I grumbled, scooping up the takeout box from the counter. “I'll show my face at your party.”

“See, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?” She flashed a victorious grin, patting Bear's head as he wagged his tail, oblivious to the whole exchange.

“Piece of cake,” I muttered under my breath. As I turned to leave, a picture on the wall caught my eye—Sam and Betty arm in arm, laughing at something beyond the camera's lens. It was a candid shot, full of life and unspoken words.

For a fleeting moment, my mind betrayed me with a flash of Grace and me, framed just like that, before everything.

Before Mike’s death…before Grace bailed and cheated.

Shaking off the thought, I focused back on the here and now. Bear nosed the door open, eager to get moving, and I followed him out, the bell above the door jingling a farewell.

I hit the pavement outside Millie's, Bear's leash tight in my hand. The cold bit at my cheeks, and the neon 'Open' sign buzzeda dull farewell. I strode to where my truck sat under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, keys jangling with every determined step.

“Clayton.”

The last voice I wanted to hear—save for Grace's maybe. There he stood, leaning against a beat-up Ford that had seen better days.

My old man.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…he’d chosen the diner today.

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