Knot Beneath the Mistletoe

8

KNOX

T he sunrise paints Ruby's skin gold.

I can't stop staring at her—the way the early morning light streams through the cabin's window, catching the copper highlights in her messy hair, softening the worried line between her brows. Ruby's curled up in my bed like she belongs there, her breathing soft and even, one hand tucked under her cheek. Last night feels like something from a fever dream—finding her locked outside in the storm, her skin ice-cold, those bastards Kym and Mia thinking it was some kind of joke.