Page 56 of Knot Your Karma
I grab my jacket and head out to find Declan and Adrian. The lobby of Anchor’s Inn is empty except for the desk clerk reading a paperback romance novel—one with a shirtless guy who looks suspiciously like Adrian on the cover.
“Excuse me, have you seen my business partners? Tall guy with shoulders that could support small aircraft, travels with a slightly shorter guy who sounds like he stepped out of a Boston tourism commercial?”
She marks her page before looking up at me. “Left about an hour ago. Something about security and lighthouse structural integrity. The tall quiet one was taking notes.”
Of course Adrian’s cataloguing potential security risks while Declan paces himself into a stress spiral. Which leaves me bouncing between walls with breakthrough news and no one to share it with.
My phone shows 3:30 PM on a Thursday afternoon. Karma’s shop should be open, and honestly, she deserves to hear about the reservation first. Her expertise made this possible. Plus, I can’t deny the growing need to see her.
The walk down Main Street flows with late autumn perfection—wood smoke drifting from chimneys, salt air carrying harbor sounds, afternoon light painting everything in warm gold.
The bell chimes when I push through the door of What Goes Around, and immediately something crashes into me like a physical wall.
The air doesn’t smell like the usual vanilla and sea salt.
Karma’s familiar scent burns with pre-heat intensity, so concentrated I can taste the honeyed sweetness on my tongue. It threads through the shop atmosphere with urgent need that makes my pulse hammer and my hands shake without conscious thought.
Ocean breeze sharpens as something primal recognizes distress and demands immediate action. “Karma?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
No immediate response, but frantic sounds echo from the back office. Not browsing customers—this sounds like someone trying to solve an impossible puzzle under deadline pressure.
I follow the noise, chest tightening with each step as that honeyed intensity grows thicker, more urgent.
The office door stands half-open. I push through and freeze.
Karma moves through what used to be her organized workspace with manic precision. The papers we organized together are scattered across surfaces as she’s rearranged theentire space—desk shoved against the far wall, filing cabinets repositioned like defensive barriers.
She’s created something that can only be called a nest in the corner—every soft textile she owns layered with obsessive care. Cardigans folded and refolded, throw pillows adjusted and readjusted, her grandmother’s quilt spread and smoothed until not a single wrinkle remains.
She kneels in the center wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that slides off both shoulders and what might be underwear, auburn hair wild around her face like she’s been raking fingers through it for hours. Her movements carry frantic urgency—adjusting a maritime book, moving it six inches left, then back to its original position thirty seconds later.
Pre-heat. Intense, overwhelming pre-heat, and she has no idea what’s happening to her body.
“Karma.”
She spins toward me, pupils blown wide and dark, breath catching when she sees me like I’m oxygen after underwater drowning. The relief that floods her scent hits my system like a drug, making my knees unsteady and my hands shake with the need to provide whatever she’s craving.
“Reed.” Relief floods through me so quick my head spins. “Okay, so this is going to sound completely insane, but I’ve reorganized this office like seventeen times today and every time I think I’ve got it right, something feels wrong, and I keep moving the same chair two inches left, then two inches right, and I’m pretty sure I’m having some sort of organizational breakdown, which is ironic because organization is literally my thing, except apparently not today because today I’m like a decorator possessed by the ghost of someone who has very strong opinions about feng shui?—”
“Hey.” My voice finds that gentle steadiness that seems to anchor her. “Look at me. Take a breath. You’re not having a breakdown.”
She does, hazel eyes wide and wild and so beautiful my chest constricts. The trust in that look—complete, unguarded, absolutely terrifying—makes something possessive rise in my chest.
“Quick question, and feel free to tell me this is none of my business, but when did your biology last throw you this particular heat curveball? Because I’m getting some very specific signals here that suggest your body’s planning something big.”
“I don’t—weeks? Maybe months? They’re irregular, I never know when—” She stops, blood draining from flushed cheeks as understanding dawns. “No. That’s impossible. I would know if I was going into heat. I mean, wouldn’t I? That’s like, Biology 101, right? Know when your body’s about to stage a hormonal coup?”
Her panic spikes, that honeyed intensity turning sharp with fear.
“So, good news and interesting news.” I gesture at the rearranged office with genuine admiration. “Good news: you’re not losing your mind. Interesting news: your biology just hit the panic button and decided today was nest-building day. Very thorough work, by the way. I’m impressed by the structural integrity of that pillow fort.”
“But I don’t feel—I mean, I’m not—” Shaking hands press against overheated cheeks, the movement making her sweater slip further down her arms. “I don’t feel like I need alpha attention. I feel like I need... God, this is embarrassing, but I feel like I need someone to crawl into this nest with me and tell me I’m not completely losing my sanity, which is probably not what pre-heat is supposed to feel like, right? Isn’t it supposed to be all urgent neediness and?—”
“What do you need right now, Karma? In this exact moment?”
“I need someone to understand what’s happening because I feel like I’m losing my mind and nothing makessense and—” Her voice cracks. “I need someone to make it stop feeling wrong. Like, everything feels wrong except having you here, which should probably worry me more than it does, but honestly I’m just grateful something finally feels right?—”
I cross the space between us in two strides. The moment I’m within arm’s reach, she gravitates toward me like magnetic attraction. Her scent blooms stronger, sweeter, raw relief threading through that honeyed warmth.
