Page 1 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

1

RUBY

Ihate the sound of Christmas bells at six in the morning.

They echo through empty streets, bouncing off fresh snow, sneaking through the crack under Flour & Fable Bakery's back door, where I'm currently baking my fourth batch of snickerdoodles. My hands shake as I measure cinnamon—the good kind, Ceylon, because Aunt Eve taught me never to skimp on the important things. The sugar-coating sparkles under harsh fluorescent lights, but all I can think about is how I have exactly twenty-one days left to save everything I have.

Twenty-one days to find a mate.

Twenty-one days until Christmas Eve.

Twenty-one days until I lose my bar to my cousin.

My chest tightens whenever I think about it, which is all the time.

The mixing bowl clatters against the metal counter harder than necessary as I beat the mixture. Sophie's going to kill me if I wake up Chonky, her precious sourdough starter. I swear that blob of flour and water judges me every time I enter her bakery for early morning baking therapy. But that's still better than being alone in my apartment above the bar, where every creak sounds like footsteps and every shadow holds memories.

"At least I don't need feeding every day," I mutter toward the sourdough starter, aggressively creaming butter and sugar. The familiar motion helps calm my trembling fingers. "And I don't live in a jar."

Great. Now I'm talking to bacteria. Next, I'll be singing carols and believing in Santa.

The town speakers crackle to life outside, right on schedule at six in the morning. Whispering Grove's tourism board thinks visitors need twenty-four-seven Christmas spirit.Silent Nightdrifts in, and I reach for the vanilla extract, pretending the moisture in my eyes is from the cold. My nose catches another Omega's scent, something like peppermint, before I hear the creaking door.

I instantly know it's Lily, the owner and baker at Flour & Fable Bakery and one of my best friends.

"If you're going to stress-bake, you could at least text me," Lily says.

I twist around to where she's standing in the kitchen doorway, having most likely just come down the stairs from her apartment on the floor above. She's wearing candy cane pajamas and a puffy winter coat, her dark curls stuffed under a beanie. She sniffs the air, wrinkling her nose.

"Your scent's all over the place. Distressed Omega at six a.m. isn't exactly subtle."

"Sorry." I'm not. "Didn't want to wake you."

"Please." She smirks at me. "Like I sleep when you're broadcasting anxiety across the street." She shuffles to the counter against the wall, returning with a chocolate-cherry scone. She hops onto the counter, swinging fuzzy-socked feet. "So, want to talk about why you're stress-baking instead of decorating your bar for the holidays like a normal business owner?"

I concentrate on my cookie dough while she takes a bite of her scone.

"The bar's fine as it is."

"Ruby, you haven't put up a single Christmas decoration. Even the gas station has a tree."

"The gas station isn't run by—" I stop, but Lily finishes for me.

"A useless Omega? Is that what Marcus said again?"

The wooden spoon cracks in my grip.

Lily's brow furrows.

"You should report him," she says softly. "The Omega Rights Council?—"

"Would do nothing. He's an asshole Alpha with connections. I'm just..." I gesture at myself, flour-covered and clearly failing at proper Omega behavior. "This."

"You are amazing. Andthisis pretty great, if you ask me." Lily takes another bite of her scone. "What did you put in them?"

"Dark chocolate, dried cherries, and..." Just like Aunt Eve used to do. The memory hits unexpectedly, and the tightness in my chest deepens. Eve in her kitchen, silver hair escaping its bun, showing me how to fold the dough.Always add cardamom, Ruby. Gives it depth, like a good story.

I haven't made these scones since Eve died, but for some reason, I found myself making them today. I also haven't decorated for Christmas since I was fifteen. Haven't let anyone close enough to?—

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