Page 21 of Knot Your Karma
I hang up and fill Adrian in as we walk through Anchor’s Rest. The town is exactly what I expected—quaint coastal charm, historic buildings, salt air mixing with the smell of old wood.
I bet people are peaking out their blinds watching us walk down the street wondering who the hell we are.
“So he kissed the maritime expert during her panic attack, and she ran,” Adrian summarizes.
“Pretty much. Someone needs to check on her, and it shouldn’t be the person who caused the panic in the first place.”
“All right, good luck. I don’t want to overwhelm her anymore.” Adrian pauses, looking through the window to What Goes Around with longing. “Fill me in.” Then he turns and walks off.
I push open the door, and the bell chimes sweetly. The shop is bigger than it looks from outside, filled with carefully curated displays that show real understanding of maritime history.
“Hello?” I call out. The scent hits me—vanilla and sea salt—and I stop mid-step. Oh that is delicious. “Anyone here?”
“Just a minute!” The voice comes from the back, slightly breathless. “I’m trying to reach something and if I fall off this ladder, my best friend is going to kill me before the concussion does!”
I follow the voice toward what I’m guessing is the maritime section, and immediately spot what’s either a workplace safety violation or an accident waiting to happen.
There’s a woman stretched up on a tall wooden ladder, reaching for something on a high shelf. Auburn hair escaping from a messy bun, vintage cardigan, balanced precariously like someone who’s done this a hundred times but definitely shouldn’t be doing it alone.
The ladder wobbles as she stretches further.
“Whoa, hey,” I call out, moving quickly toward the base of the ladder. “That looks like a job for someone with better insurance coverage.”
She startles and the ladder wobbles dangerously. I’m moving before my brain catches up, positioning myself right beneath her as she loses her balance and falls backward.
I catch her in what has to be the most romantic comedy moment of my entire life—one arm around her waist, the other supporting her back, both of us breathing hard and staring at each other. Something in my chest goes quiet and satisfied. My arms don’t want to let go.
In fact, it might take an army to peel her away from me.
Her eyes are warm hazel with flecks of gold, wide with surprise and something else—recognition, maybe.
“Well,” I say, still holding her, “this is either the most romantic meet-cute in Anchor’s Rest history, or I just becamean accessory to workplace safety violations. Either way, I’m weirdly okay with it.”
She blinks, then lets out a surprised laugh that transforms her whole face and does terrible things to my pulse. “Oh god, that’s embarrassing. I swear I’m normally more coordinated than this, but I was trying to reach this compass rose that someone put way too high up, and now I’m basically recreating a rom-com meet-cute except with more potential for actual injury and—” She stops, taking a breath. “Hi. Thank you for the catch. Very heroic.”
“Hi yourself.” I’m still holding her, and she’s not asking me to let go. Therefore I shall hold her forever. Or at least until she wants down. “I’m Reed, and apparently catching beautiful women is my new specialty. Most people just go withnice weather. You went full Cirque du Soleil. I respect the commitment to memorable first impressions.”
“Very funny.” But she’s smiling, and her grip on the chair arms loosens, and I can see some of the tension leave her shoulders. “I’m Karma, and for the record, that wasn’t a pickup attempt. That was just me being a disaster with questionable ladder safety practices.”
She wiggles and I know she wants me to let her down and logically I know I should. And when she wiggles again, I reluctantly set her on her feet. I help her find her footing, but I don’t step back immediately. There’s something about her that makes my instincts go protective and focused.
“Reed Santos,” I say, extending my hand. “And honestly? If this is how you usually meet people, I’m impressed. Most people just swipe right like civilized humans.”
“That’s...” She stares at me with those incredible hazel eyes, and something builds in the space between us. Neither of us steps back. Her breath catches when our shoulders brush. But then her expression shifts, becoming more guarded. “That’s really sweet. Are you sure you’re real? Because in my experience, perfect doesn’t usually... last.”
We’re standing close enough that I can see the pulse beating in her throat. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect to find, and I realize I’m leaning closer without meaning to.
We’re having one of those moments where the air gets thick and I’m trying to figure out if I’m imagining the electricity or if she feels it too.
Her lips part slightly, and for a heartbeat I think we’re about to?—
“Oh no,” she says suddenly, stepping back so quickly she nearly trips. Her hand shoots to her vintage bracelet, fingers working the charm in rapid circles. Her breathing speeds up. Her sweet scent suddenly turning stressed. “No, no, no. This is—I can’t?—”
And then she’s moving, heading toward the back of the shop with focused energy that suggests something just triggered every anxiety response she has.
“Karma?” I follow her, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” she says, pushing through a door marked PRIVATE. “Everything is wrong.”
