Page 18 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking a tentative sip. The punch was sweet, spiked, and hit just the right spot.

“Cheers,” Clay grunted, his own drink held loosely as if it were an afterthought rather than a peace offering.

Before things could spiral into another round of barbed comments, the room hushed. Betty stood on her little makeshift stage, her voice carrying effortlessly. “Welcome, everyone, to our annual Christmas Kick Off Party!”

Everyone cheered, and the tension between us seemed to ebb away, swallowed by the wave of holiday spirit. I heard something pop from over by the bar and I snapped my head toward it, startled—but it was just a bottle of champagne, courtesy of Betty’s husband Sam.

“Everything okay?” Clay's voice had changed, quiet and concerned. He leaned closer, his height allowing him to speak directly into my ear without much effort. I fought the urge to lean into the warmth of him.

“Fine,” I shot back too quickly, wishing my heart would stop racing. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because you look like you're about to bolt for the nearest exit.”

“Observant, aren't we?” I forced a laugh, hoping it sounded convincing. “Maybe I just want to escape your company.”

“I wanted to ask about the other day…you running away from something,” he said, and my heart plummeted right into my stomach. “Maybe it’s none of my business?—”

“Right,” I mumbled, eyeing Clay's concerned expression. “You're right.”

“About you being in trouble?” His tone had shifted from casual to something far more urgent, his brows knitting together in a frown that creased his freckled forehead.

For a split second, the floodgates nearly burst open. My lips parted, words teetering on the brink of confession. But I snapped them shut just as quickly. “No, you’re right—this isn't your business. I'm fine.”

He held my gaze for a moment longer before nodding, the lines around his eyes softening with an unreadable emotion. Turning away, I scanned the crowd for Mariah, finding her laughing with some friends by the punch bowl.

“Mariah,” I called out as I approached, keeping my voice steady despite the jittery sensation in my gut. “I can't do this. It's too much. I want to leave.”

She glanced up, surprise etched on her face. “Now? But we just got here, Grace.”

“Look, I just…” I couldn't find the words to explain the chaos swirling inside me—my fear, the constant looking over myshoulder, the confusing tangle of emotions that Clay's proximity stirred up.

“Fine, stay if you want. But I need to get out of here.” I was already backing away, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

“Grace, wait!” Mariah reached out but I was already lost in the sea of people, dodging conversations and sidestepping couples swaying to the music that floated above the chatter.

“Grace, really?” She caught up to me at the door, her own expression a cocktail of concern and frustration.

“Sorry, Mare. You enjoy yourself. Kat can bring you home, right?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, relenting. “But call me when you're home safe, yeah?”

“Will do.” I gave her a tight smile and slipped out into the cool night air, leaving the warmth of Millie's—and Clay—behind.

The cold from the truck's metal handle bit into my fingers as I yanked the door open. The familiar musty scent of the old upholstery greeted me, a contrast to the festive atmosphere I'd just escaped from. I slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

“Come on, you piece of junk,” I muttered, jamming the key into the ignition and giving it a rough twist. The engine coughed, sputtered, and fell silent. I punched the steering wheel, cursing under my breath. “Seriously?”

I tried again, holding my breath, but the only sound was the mocking click of failure. Great. Alone, in the dark, in a dead truck. My heart kicked up its pace, a reminder of that all-too-familiar feeling of vulnerability.

My only choice was to go back to the party.

And now, out here in the dark…I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to get out. Because that familiar feeling was crawling up my spine again, the unshakeable sensation that I was beingwatched. I reached over to grab my phone, wishing I had a taser or even a gun?—

Then,knock knock.

Someone was at my window.

And whoever it was, they had me at their mercy.

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