Page 2 of My Secret Santa Daddies

He moves toward my car with an easy confidence, as if the storm is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His broad frame and the dark beanie pulled low over his blond hair make him impossible to miss. He reaches the driver’s side window and taps on the glass. I roll it down halfway, the chilling cold immediately flooding the small space.

“You alright, ma’am?” his smooth voice breaks over the window.

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out at first. He leans in, his piercing green eyes scanning mine, making my heart beat faster for reasons I’d rather not admit.

“Car slid off the road,” I finally manage to get out, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrays me with a slight tremble. “Can’t get it out.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, glancing at the front of my car half-buried in the snowbank. “You’re lucky you didn’t go over the edge.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t let myself think about that—about how close I had came to another disaster. I turn away, gripping the steering wheel as if it can ground me.

His eyes narrow and he inches closer.

“Sierra?” he asks, recognizing me then. I wish I didn’t know how long it’d been since I last saw him, but it’s been four years and one month almost to the day. Anna’s funeral. I had hugged him, Griffin and Cody goodbye with the promise to see them again soon, but of course it had always been an empty promise. No part of me felt any kind of rush to connect with them.

It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just couldn’t handle those memories.

I grit my teeth, mentally berating myself for even thinking about that day.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I manage past the lump in my throat, meeting his gaze head-on. “Long time, Wyatt.”

Wyatt shifts, his hand resting on the roof of my car as he leans closer. “Sierra, you okay?” His voice is softer now, less gruff.

“Yeah, just peachy.”

“Come on, let’s get you the hell out of here.” He opens the door, reaching his hand out to grab mine.

The last thing I need is for Wyatt to see me struggling. I let go of his hand, brushing snow off my coat as if it’s no big deal that I had just skidded off the road and nearly plunged into a ditch.

He studies me for a second, his eyes narrowing slightly, but says nothing. Instead, he turns and motions toward his truck.

“Get in. I’ll hook up the chain and pull you out.”

“I can help?—”

“You can help by staying warm in the truck.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I consider pushing back. But the biting cold, combined with the exhaustion creeping into my bones, wins out. Plus, the base of my skull is throbbing painfully.

“Fine.”

I stomp through the snow toward his truck. The wind bites at my face as I yank open the passenger door and climb inside. It’s warm in the cab, the heat blasting from the vents, and for a moment, I just sit there, letting the warmth seep into me.

I glance through the windshield as Wyatt heads to the back of his truck, pulling out a heavy chain like it’s nothing. The snow whips around him, but he moves with that same quiet confidence I remember from before. He hasn’t changed much—tall, solid, with that easy, self-assured presence that always puts people at ease. People, but not me.

I watch as he attaches the chain to the front of my car, his movements quick and practiced. I hate how capable he is, how he just swoops in and takes control like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The wind tugs at his jacket, snow clinging to his hair as he finishes securing the hook to the undercarriage.

Wyatt strides back to his truck, his boots crunching through the snow. The door opens, and the rush of cold air is brief as he climbs in beside me. His scent fills the cab—faintly woodsy, mixed with something warm, like leather and smoke. I press my lips together, willing myself to stay calm as he looks over at me.

“You ready?” he asks, turning the key in the ignition.

I nod, my throat suddenly feeling tight. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Wyatt shifts the truck into gear, and with a low rumble, we start moving. The tires struggle against the snow at first, but slowly, the truck pulls forward, the chain tightening as it tugs my car free. I grip the seat, glancing through the side mirror as my car emerges from the snowbank, inch by inch. It’s slow going, the truck groaning under the strain, but Wyatt doesn’t rush it.

I shift in my seat, the warmth of the truck doing little to ease the tension in my chest. The silence between us feels heavy, even though we aren’t speaking. Something about being alone in his truck makes the space feel too small, too close. I can’t shake the awkward feeling, like I don’t quite belong here, in this moment with him.

A few tense minutes later, we’re clear of the snowbank, my car now trailing behind us like a reluctant child. Wyatt leans over and cranks the heat.

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