Page 14 of Knot Your Karma
“I mean, if your instincts are telling you she’s important, there’s probably a reason. And that reason might not be romantic. It might be that she’s the key to finding out what really happened to that compass.”
The words hit like ice water. Because Adrian’s right—my instincts are rarely wrong about people. And if Karma Rose is connected to the missing compass, if she knows something about how it disappeared...
“I’ll text you the address of the inn,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “And guys? Thanks. For having my back even when you think I’m being an idiot.”
“That’s what pack does,” Reed says. “Even when you’re absolutely being a noble, self-sacrificing idiot who’s about to fall for a potentially shady antique dealer.”
“I’m not falling for anyone.”
“Sure you’re not,” Adrian says with dry humor. “See you tomorrow, Dec. Try not to do anything too stupid before we get there.”
“Define too stupid.”
“Anything involving your heart, your hormones, or any more conversations with Blake,” Reed says immediately.
“That’s very specific.”
“I know my audience. Love you, you disaster.”
“Love you too, Reed.”
The line goes dead, and I’m alone with the sound of waves and my own breathing. I set the phone on thenightstand and pull up the map on my phone, tracing the route from Blake’s old apartment to the dealers I visited today.
Maritime Antiques & More—twelve blocks. Harborside Collections—eight blocks. What Goes Around?—
My finger stops moving.
Six blocks. A straight shot down Elm Street.
The phone slips in my suddenly sweaty palm.
Karma
I stareat the CLOSED sign on my shop door like it might spontaneously combust if I flip it to OPEN. Which would honestly solve a lot of my problems right now.
Maybe if I don’t open today, he won’t come back. Maybe he’ll just... go away and I can pretend this whole mess never happened.
The hollow ache in my chest that started when Destiny left last night hasn’t eased, and I catch myself checking the shop entrance like I’m expecting—or hoping for—someone specific.
Foolish, foolish omega. And yet, I glance at the door again for like the hundredth time.
But the loan notice is still sitting on my counter like a particularly vindictive piece of mail, and my stomach churns thinking about my bank account hovering somewhere between pathetic andplease don’t let my card get declined at the grocery store, again.
I flip the notice face-down again and start arranging my pricing pens in a perfect line. I need customers. Even customers who happen to be the gorgeous alpha brother ofmy cheating ex-boyfriend who’s looking for the family heirloom I stole and sold.
God, my life is a disaster.
I flip the sign and unlock the door, because apparently I’m a masochist who enjoys emotional torture.
The morning passes quietly enough, which is probably a blessing because I’m not sure I could handle actual drama right now. A few tourists wander in looking forauthentic coastal treasuresand leave with overpriced decorative anchors that were probably made in China last week. Mrs. Henderson stops by to ask if I have any Depression-era glassware, and I manage to have a completely normal conversation that doesn’t involve lying about grand theft compass, which honestly feels like a major life achievement at this point.
Normal shop owner things.
I’m reorganizing my maybe pile for the sixth time—moving the silver locket between the jewelry box and the compass rose like the exact positioning will somehow solve my financial crisis—when the shop bell chimes.
My spine straightens automatically before I even turn around.
Declan fills the doorway again, and yep, he still looks like he stepped out of aCompetent Alpha Who Fixes Thingscatalog. Work boots, flannel shirt, measuring tape on his belt, measuring tape on his belt like he’s ready to measure exactly how much trouble I’m in.
