Page 2 of Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

A crash from somewhere outside the bakery makes us both jump. Lily's scone goes flying.

"Just raccoons," she says nervously, but I'm already heading for the door. "Ruby, wait?—"

The December air hits like a slap, and my skin ripples with the cold. Snow crunches under my boots as I edge around the dumpster, phone flashlight illuminating scattered garbage. Normally, I don't run toward danger, but I've seen raccoons in this alley before, and last time, there was a baby one I wanted to capture to help, except he got away from me. They come down from the nearby mountains searching for easy food.

A metallic rattle draws my attention to a toppled trash can.

That's when I see it—a young raccoon thrashing against a red ribbon tangled around its neck, caught on the can's handle. My heart stops.

Suddenly, my mind flashes to a memory…

"Just hold still, Ruby-girl. The ribbon has to be perfect for the Christmas photos."

Fingers pulling too tight. Can't breathe. Mom's drinking again, and the ribbon's cutting into my neck, and Dad's getting angry about the waiting photographer's fee, and their scents are all wrong—Alpha rage and Omega fear mixing until I'm choking on it...

The raccoon's panicked chittering snaps me back. I hate the acid in my gut whenever I'm reminded of my past. Refocusing on the furry animal, now thrashing harder, the ribbon tightening with each movement, I move closer.

"Hey," I whisper, crouching slowly. "Hey there, sweet thing. I know exactly how you feel."

It freezes, beady eyes reflecting my flashlight. Up close, I can see it's young and could be the one I saw before. It's probably its first winter alone, like I was that Christmas Eve when everything shattered.

"Being trapped sucks, doesn't it?" I inch closer, keeping my voice soft. "Especially by something pretty. Something that's supposed to be festive."

The raccoon watches me, still breathing fast but no longer struggling.

"I'm going to help, okay? But you have to trust me. Just for a minute."

I reach for the ribbon with trembling fingers. The raccoon snaps, catching my hand between its front paws. I cringe, but it doesn't bite or scratch me, and I don't pull back. I know too well how fear makes anyone bite.

"Yeah, I get that, too. Trusting hurts sometimes. But being trapped hurts more."

Quickly, I work the ribbon loose. It's synthetic satin, cheap and cruel, like the ones Mom used to buy in bulk forperfectChristmas photos. One final tug and the raccoon bolts, leaving me holding the torn red strip. My throat feels tight at the memory of my past with my mom.

"Ruby?" Lily's voice floats from the doorway, cutting through my thoughts. "You okay?"

"Fine." I stuff the ribbon into the trash. "Just fine."

When I turn around, she's not alone. Hannah, her sister, stands at the end of the alley, too, already dressed in black pants and a white button-up shirt with a fitted black vest—the bakery's uniform. She's hugging herself in the dim morning light.

"We need to talk," she says seriously in my direction.

"I'm baking." I stroll back toward the bakery.

"You're hiding." Hannah steps into my path.

"No, I'm not." I stuff my hands into my pocket.

"So, the Christmas boxes in your office are nothing? And Marcus' offer is nothing?"

Ice floods my veins at the name of my cousin. I don't want to deal with this so early in the morning.

Suddenly, headlights sweep the alley, painting long shadows across the brick walls. A black Mercedes crawls past, my cousin's silhouette visible through tinted windows.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear!

My insides squeeze as I watch him prowl down this stretch of Whispering Grove, so far from his mansion in the gated hills on the other side of town. There's no innocence in this drive-by. Every pass of his car is calculated, a silent reminder of the power he holds over the fate of my bar. He knows exactly what he's doing, cruising past my bar like he's already measuring for new signs, picking out fixtures for when the will from my aunty finally forces my hand.

Marcus turns his head just slightly, and even through the tinted glass, I sense his grin.

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