Page 62 of My Secret Santa Clayton

I’d only come here to run errands, and I ended up getting slapped in the face by Christmas.

I needed to get to the pet store, but the shortest route forced me through the holiday bustle—through the Christmas market that took over downtown Silver Ridge every December. My boots crunched on the snow-covered path, each step taking me deeper into the crowd.

Shit.

This was not what I wanted. Not even a little bit.

“Handmade ornaments! Get your Christmas ornaments here!”

“Fresh, hot cider!”

“Last minute gifts found here!”

That's when I heard a voice I recognized—then I saw her. Sierra Hall stood behind her family's stall, draped in a red scarf that contrasted with the whiteness all around. She was talking to a couple, holding up a delicately painted bauble to the light, her sales pitch smooth and practiced. I’d almost forgotten that her family owned a glass and carpentry business…but the sight brought up a whole bunch of unwanted memories. When hereyes met mine, they widened ever so slightly, and she knew, just as I did, that this wasn't any ordinary encounter.

I could take a second to talk to her.

Because after everything…I had to know.

I lingered at the edge of the tent, watching as she wrapped up another sale, the paper crinkling in her hands as she packaged the ornament. The tourists moved on, laughter trailing behind them, oblivious to the tension.

“Clay,” Sierra said as I approached, her voice steady but her eyes darting away. “Didn't expect to see you here.”

“Wasn't looking for you,” I replied, my tone betraying nothing of the turmoil inside. “But now that we're here...”

She stared at me, the smile faltering on her lips. For a moment, she looked like she might turn away, but then her shoulders squared, and she met my gaze.

“Let's talk.”

A kid seemed to materialize behind her—one of hers, I thought—and she knelt to talk to him.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Can you watch the stall for me? Just five minutes.”

The kid nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the responsibility. He couldn't be older than ten, but he stood tall, puffing out his chest like he was ready to take on the world.

“Didn't mean to impose,” I told Sierra, my voice gruff with the cold and something else, something heavier. “Just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah,” she replied, her glance brief, her hands clasped together. “Figured that much. Soon enough.”

We moved away from the bright lights and festive sounds, rounding the back of the booth where the shadows gave us a semblance of privacy. The air turned colder here, or maybe it was just the conversation we were about to have.

Sierra's back was stiff, her eyes darted around before finally landing on me. I opened my mouth, ready to ask the question that had been eating at me since I cracked open that photo album last night.

But she beat me to it. “This is about Grace, right?”

I only nodded. “Yeah.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced back toward the booth, where her kid manned the fort, then met my eyes again.

“Clay, I knew you'd come asking,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know I lied.”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my tone steady though my pulse hammered in my chest.

“Michael's accident messed us all up,” Sierra continued, her gaze fixed on something far away, a memory perhaps. “I was angry after that day at the lake—angry and bitter. I blamed you and Grace, even though I knew...I knew it wasn't your fault. It just didn't seem fair.”

“Sierra, I?—”

“Listen,” she cut in, her eyes locking onto mine. “While we were all grieving, I lied to you. It was wrong.”

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