Page 32 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Goodnight, Clay,” I said, stepping back, ready to disappear into the night and leave him to whatever ghosts haunted him here.

“Wait,” he called out, his hand catching mine, warm and firm. “I want to see you again soon.”

I hesitated, feeling the pull of those three words tugging at old scars. His grip was gentle, but it might as well have been a vise around my heart. I looked up at him, trying to read the map of lines by his eyes, the ones that hadn't been there before.

Was there a roadmap in them that led to trust? Or just another detour down a road best left untraveled?

So as I stared up at him, I gave him the only answer I could. “We’ll see.”

FIFTEEN

Clay

I steered the truck up the gravel driveway, the crunch under the tires a familiar sound in the otherwise silent dusk. It had been days since I'd seen Grace—not since the gingerbread debacle, since my drunk father showed up—and my stomach knotted up like I was about to step into enemy territory.

We’d kissed…and then she’d told me “maybe” when I asked to see her again.

I couldn’t make sense of it.

Mariah's face appeared at the kitchen window, her wave tentative but welcoming. I returned it with a nod, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. The engine cut with a final shudder, and I sat for a moment, gathering the courage to face what came next.

“Man up, Hawthorne,” I muttered to myself, pushing the door open.

Grace emerged from the house, her brown eyes scanning me like she might a crime scene—searching for clues, always searching.

“Clay,” she said, her voice clear and cool. No sarcasm this time, just a hint of something else I couldn't quite place.

“Grace.” I held out the truck keys between us.

“Runs better?” Her eyebrow arched, challenging.

“Like new.” I dropped the keys into her palm, our fingers brushing for a split second. A shock went through me, nothing like electricity—just flesh on flesh, simple and human.

She didn't move to go inside. Instead, she stood there…waiting for something. I read the hesitation in the set of her shoulders, the slight tilt of her head.

“Thanks for fixing it up,” she finally said, pocketing the keys.

“Least I could do.”

An awkward silence fell, heavy as the darkening sky above us.

“Want to take it for a spin?” I blurted, the words rushing out before I could second-guess myself. “Just to make sure everything's in order.”

“Are you asking me on a test drive?” A sly smile appeared on her lips, and I realized she was playing with me.

“Guess I am.”

“Fine, but I'm driving,” she declared, a spark lighting up those deep brown eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

“Deal.”

She slid into the driver's seat, her movements sure and practiced as she adjusted the mirrors. I climbed into the passenger side, inhaling the truck's familiar scent. I’d cleaned it up a bit, too; this was Grace’s mom’s old truck, and it hadn’t gotten much TLC since she passed. “Did you…” she started.

I looked over at her. “Did I do what?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

Then she turned the key, the engine roaring to life beneath her touch, and we were off.

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