Page 6 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Ha,” I scoffed, glaring at him from across the table. My mood was about as festive as a winter storm in July. I pushed back my chair, the metal legs scraping against the diner's tiled floor. “You'll lose that bet.”

“Come on, Clay, it's Christmas!” Livy chimed in.

“Doesn't feel like it.”

“Ah, don't be such a Scrooge,” Kat cut in.

“Grace doesn't mean anything to you anymore, right? So just get her something nice and move on,” Gabe said.

“Nice? After what she did?” I rose from the table, ready to bolt. “She cheated, man.”

“Hey, now, it's been years,” Kat reasoned, her voice softening, maybe realizing they'd pushed too far.

“Doesn't change a damn thing.”

“Look, just buy her a candle or something,” Livy suggested.

“Or a book,” Kat added, hopeful. “Everyone likes books.”

“Fine.” The word was clipped, final. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair, eager to escape.

“Where are you off to?” Gabe called after me.

“Anywhere but here,” I muttered, pushing through the door, the bell above ringing a jarring goodbye as I stepped out into the cold night.

FOUR

Grace

Of course…of courseit had to be him.

I hunched in the corner booth, my eyes glued to the door as it slammed shut behind Clay. Damn it, of all people to get for Secret Santa, I pulled his name from the hat. A low curse slipped from my lips, but I shook off the irritation. No room in my head for Clay Hawthorne and his stormy exit.

I shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of the diner's glass windows at my back, the darkness beyond them pressing close, too close. It wasn't just the night playing tricks on me; the sensation of eyes drilling into my spine was relentless. The colorful Christmas lights outside were supposed to be comforting, twinkling merrily, but they were useless.

They couldn't light up the creeping shadows where anyone could be lurking.

“Hey, you okay?” the waitress asked, snapping me out of my thoughts as she dropped off a refill of coffee. It was Sandra Thompson, one of my old classmates, someone who should have been familiar and comforting. No chance of that; nothing comforted me these days.

“I’m fine,” I said, plastering on a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Just enjoying the party.”

But my gaze darted back to the window reflexively, scanning for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

“You sure?” she asked. “You look…well, a little sick. I know things like this can be overwhelming?—”

“I’m fine,” I repeated—and I knew I’d snapped at her when Sandra flinched. “Sorry, I just…yeah. It’s a lot. Thank you for understanding.”

She flashed me a smile. “Okay,” she said. “Just…take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Sandra left me with a fresh cup of coffee, then went back to socializing with more friendly townsfolk. Letting out a slow breath, I focused back on the party. Secret Santa was harmless fun, supposedly. Yet, here I was, drawing the name of the one guy in town who could get under my skin with a single scowl. The irony wasn't lost on me. But Clay and his glares would have to get in line.

I had bigger demons to fend off.

“Gotcha,” I muttered, snapping a photo of the Secret Santa exchange, tinsel-draped, laughter-spiked chaos. My fingers worked the old camera with ease, a relic from my shutterbug high school days I'd unearthed from my childhood closet. It felt good, grounding, to peer through that lens. Plus, it was the perfect distraction when I felt like I was about to get killed.

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