Page 22 of My Secret Santa Daddies

“Betty!” Ranger Lisa Morales, calls for her by the make-shift stage being set up. Man. They really do go all out for Christmas.

As I walk through the diner, I catch bits and pieces of conversation—people laughing, and joking about what ridiculous gifts they’re hoping to give or receive. And all the while, I can feel their eyes on me.

Not in a malicious way, just... curious. Like I’m a ghost who’s suddenly materialized after years of absence. They see me in the bakery all the time, but I make sure to stay busy so they can’t linger to ask me questions about Griffin, Cody or Wyatt.

I slide into one of the back booths, away from most of the crowd. The vinyl seat squeaks under me, and I can’t help but glance over at Cody, who is still deep in conversation with Sheriff Callahan. Typical. The moment we arrive, he gets sucked into small talk, leaving me to fend for myself. I can’t blame him, though. I knew what I was walking into when I agreed to this.

My eyes dance across each face.

People mill around, greeting one another with hugs and laughs, kids tug on their parents’ sleeves, excited about the drawing. The sense of community is almost overwhelming. Everyone knows everyone here. And that’s the problem.

No Griffin. Not yet at least. Maybe he won’t show up.

I don’t have time to move before Susan Harper spots me.

“You made it,” she says, her voice is warm but has a glint of pride beneath it. Before I can respond, she pulls me into a hug, and I melt for a second, letting the familiar comfort of her embrace wash over me.

“I didn’t think you would have let me skip this year.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up, but look at you, I was half expecting you to tell Cody to piss off.” Heat creeps up the back of my throat, remembering how the whole encounterwent down. I bury the thought, hoping I might forget the whole thing.

Doubtful. Very doubtful.

Subconsciously, my gaze moves over to him. He looks handsome, tall and lean, his chestnut hair slightly tousled as he leans effortlessly against the brick mantle. His strong jawline and piercing hazel eyes make him almost intimidating.

His piercing gaze meets mine, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through my body.

Of the three, if onehadto catch me touching myself, I’m glad it was Cody. He’s easy to be around and talk to for the most part.

“Oh, part of me wanted to tell him to piss off.”

“You’re going to survive tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t know about that.” I mutter.

Cody winks at me before he’s swept into another conversation. Great. Just great.

“Well, if it helps, I’m here. And plus, it’s always fun to get a gift from someone mysterious.”

Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the conversation.

“Oh, Dr. Harper! I’m so glad I caught you,” says Laura Tenor, the local innkeeper. She’s approaching us quickly, her brow furrowed with concern. “Do you have a minute? The arthritis wrist is acting up again, and I swear, it’s worse this time. Can you take a look?”

I glance at Susan, who gives me a small, apologetic smile before turning to Laura with that patient, professional tone she always uses. “Of course, Laura. It’s been a while since we looked it over, hasn’t it?”

Laura nods, holding out her wrist for inspection. “Yes, I know you said it was arthritis last time, but the pain’s been flaring up more lately. Especially with all the holiday decorating and guest bookings.”

Susan takes Laura’s wrist gently in her hands, her eyes narrowing in concentration. I step back slightly, feeling the edges of the conversation slipping away from me as they talk about treatments and remedies. It’s classic Silver Ridge—everyone always asking Susan for advice, always relying on her to fix things.

Laura glances at me briefly, offering a polite smile before focusing back on Susan. “I’m sorry, Sierra, we just keep Dr. Harper so busy around here,” she says with a slight laugh. “You know how these old bones of mine don’t want to cooperate.”

“No worries,” I say, offering a small smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I manage to slip away toward the corner of the diner where a refreshment table has been set up with cookies, punch, and candy canes. I grab a paper plate, load it up with a couple of sugar cookies, and pour myself a glass of punch, grateful for the few seconds of quiet away from all the eyes and chatter.

I sit down at one of the small tables by the window, watching the snow falling softly outside, casting a warm glow through the diner’s frosted glass. It’s nice—peaceful, almost. For the first time tonight, I feel like I can breathe.

That’s when a small voice interrupts my solitude.

---