Page 25 of Knot Your Karma
“What happened to her?”
“Someone she trusted completely destroyed her. And whatever she thinks she’s done in response, she believes it makes her unforgivable.”
Adrian’s jaw tightens, and the scent of controlled fury drifts between us.
“Dec’s going to want to fix this,” he says.
“Yeah.” I glance back toward Main Street one more time. “Problem is, I’m not sure she’s going to let him.”
Karma
I’m staringat the shop door that Reed just walked through like it might spontaneously combust and take my sanity with it. My lips are still tingling from that almost kiss, and my brain has apparently decided to go on vacation right when I need it most, leaving me standing here like a broken omega who’s forgotten how basic human functions work.
I catch myself pressing my nose to my cardigan sleeve for the third time in five minutes.
“Okay, what the actual hell just happened?” I say to the empty shop, my voice echoing slightly in the late afternoon quiet. I start organizing my maybe pile, moving the same three pieces back and forth like I’m playing the world’s most indecisive game of antique chess. “Like, two hours ago I was a normal person with one complicated alpha situation, and now I’m apparently the kind of omega who falls off ladders into gorgeous betas and almost kisses them in perfectly organized back rooms like some sort of romance novel heroine having a very specific Tuesday.”
The antique compass on my display shelf seems to be judging me with its brass-and-mother-of-pearl smugness.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell it, getting to my feet andimmediately starting to straighten displays that don’t need straightening. “You’re part of the problem. If I hadn’t stolen your cousin, none of this would be happening. And now there’s apparently a THIRD one coming? What is this, some sort of cosmic joke?”
I start my closing routine on autopilot—counting the register twice—one twenty-seven today, better than yesterday’s pathetic showing—straightening displays, checking the locks. All while my brain tries to process the fact that I’m apparently attracted to an entire pack of men who are here to find the thing I stole.
“This is fine,” I mutter, flipping the compass rose in my maybe pile face-down, then face-up, then face-down again. “This is totally fine. I’m just a small-town antique dealer who’s apparently developed a collector’s instinct for gorgeous men with complicated family situations. Very normal. Very sustainable. Definitely not heading toward a complete emotional meltdown.”
The shop bell chimes, and I jump approximately three feet in the air and immediately knock my elbow into the display case. The brass anchor topples over, hits the compass rose, which rolls into the ship’s bell with a sound like the world’s most expensive domino effect.
“Closed!” I call out, my voice coming out higher than intended while I scramble to catch rolling maritime pieces. “We’re closed! Come back tomorrow when I’ve figured out how to be a functional human being again!”
“It’s me, drama queen,” Destiny’s voice calls back, warm and amused. “I saw a guy leave looking like he’d been interrupted right before doing something he really wanted to do, and figured you might need emergency bestie intervention.”
Oh thank God.
“Reed, his name is Reed.”
“You don’t say.”
“Emergency bestie intervention is exactly what I need,” Isay, flipping the sign to closed. My hands shake slightly as I turn the lock. “Emergency bestie intervention and possibly a drink. Or therapy. Or witness protection. Or all three.”
“That good, huh?” Destiny looks me up and down, taking in my disheveled appearance with obvious amusement. “Honey, you look like you spent an hour in close quarters with someone you wanted to kiss but didn’t. You’ve got that specific look of someone who’s been left hanging right at the good part.”
Fire crawls up my neck. “How can you tell?”
“Because I have eyes and you’re practically vibrating with frustrated tension. Plus, I saw Reed leaving, and that man looked like he’d been stopped right before crossing a finish line he really wanted to cross.” She grins, linking her arm through mine. “Coffee shop. Now. You need caffeine, my wisdom, and possibly my emergency Bailey’s.”
Five minutes later, we’re settled in our usual booth at The Daily Grind—the one with the crack in the vinyl that we’ve been meaning to fix for two years. The early evening light filters through the windows, casting everything in warm gold. The espresso machine hisses in the background, mixing with the sound of Destiny’s bangles clicking as she gestures. Everything smells like safety—coffee, cinnamon, and the familiar worn leather of our booth.
The Bailey’s burns going down, mixing with the coffee to create warmth that spreads through my chest and settles some of the jittery energy thrumming under my skin.
“All right,” Destiny says, settling back with her spiked coffee and that focused attention that means I’m about to get the full bestie treatment. “Start from the beginning. And don’t leave out any of the good parts, because I live vicariously through your disasters.”
“I don’t know where to start.” I wrap my hands around the warm mug, using the heat to ground myself. “Also, did you just call my life a disaster?”
“Mija, your life is like a telenovela where the heroine keeps tripping into gorgeous men instead of running away from drug cartels. Honestly, I’m impressed by your commitment to the genre.”
So I tell her. About Reed’s dramatic entrance, the ladder rescue, the adrenaline-fueled organizing session, the way we kept almost touching, the moment we were leaning closer and closer until we were a breath away from kissing and then—nothing. The way he left me standing there with my heart hammering and my lips tingling from anticipation that never got satisfied.
My cheeks stay permanently flushed throughout the entire confession, and I’m shredding my coffee shop napkin into confetti without realizing it. Destiny slides a fresh one across the table and raises an eyebrow at the pile of paper snow I’ve created.
