Page 51 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

I nod, still a bit dazed from the kiss and the view and everything. “Whatever you think is best. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with fancy mountain restaurants.”

His foot finds mine under the table, and the simple contact shouldn’t make my breath catch, but it does.

“Trust me?”

The question feels weighted with meaning.

“I’m starting to.”

“Good.” His smile is slow and satisfied. “I have plans for you, Ruby.”

The way he says my name makes it sound like a promise—or maybe a threat.

“Now, let’s begin,” he says. “What do you call a mountain climber who’s really bad at knock-knock jokes?” Knox asks suddenly, eyes twinkling with mischief. He’s loosened up even more since we sat down, jacket open, radiating casual authority like it’s his natural state. Which, let’s be honest, it probably is.

I play along. “What?”

“A cliffhanger.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “That was worse than the last one. How do you even know these?”

“My dad was the king of dad jokes,” he says, something softening in his expression. “But I notice you’re still laughing.”

“Maybe I’m just being polite.”

“Pretty girl, you’re a terrible liar.” His foot slides higher up my calf under the table, and my breath catches.

Soon enough, the waiter arrives at our table, and Knox orders our drinks, and the food starts arriving soon after. Evidently, it’s an eight-course meal, which is new.

The first course arrives—something delicate involving scallops and foam. Knox watches me taste it, his eyes darkening when I can’t hold back a small moan of pleasure.

“Good?” he asks, voice rougher than before.

“Amazing.” I take another one, trying to ignore how his intense focus makes my skin tingle. “Though I have to say, this is a far cry from the mac and cheese you made us up on the mountain.”

“What can I say?” He chuckles. Leaning back in his seat, he reaches for his whiskey in a glass. “I contain multitudes. But speaking of the mountain... you never did tell me why you signed up for that hike.”

I focus on my wine glass, watching the light play through the red liquid.

“Would you believe me if I said it was for exercise?”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine.” I sigh, setting down my fork. “I had a shit few days, then I got this flyer for a free day in the mountains. I seriously needed to escape the town, get away from it all, so it was too good to resist. Though my best friend saw us strolling in town and grilled me recently for falling for a cute mountain guy.”

“And did you?” He leans forward against the table.

“Maybe.” I meet his gaze, surprised by my own boldness.

The next few courses arrive—something with venison and wild mushrooms that smells incredible, vegetables, and polenta cubes with truffle. His gaze never leaves me as we eat, and I find him comfortable to be with, loving the attention he pays me.

“Tell me more about your bar,” he asks, cutting into his meat.

I welcome the distraction, telling him about inheriting it from my aunt, about learning to brew beer in the tiny back room, about the regular customers who’ve become family. He listens intently, asking questions that show he’s actually interested, not just being polite.

“You light up when you talk about it,” he observes, voice soft. “It’s beautiful.”

“Now, who’s being cheesy?”

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