Page 96 of Knot Your Karma
“I want to plan our bonding ceremony as the celebration it deserves to be,” Reed corrects, ocean spray turning serious with genuine emotion. “This isn’t just us making formal commitments—it’s the whole community witnessing pack formation. That’s significant.”
Karma reaches across the table with her free hand, threading her fingers through Reed’s while keeping hold of mine. “I love that you want to make it special. All of you. After Blake, afterfeeling as if I wasn’t worth effort or celebration...” Her voice catches on Blake’s name, fingers automatically smoothing the tablecloth in precise movements—old anxiety behaviors that surface when she remembers not being worth celebration. “Having pack who wants to plan beautiful ceremonies and public recognition... It’s everything I never knew I wanted.”
“You’re worth the most beautiful celebration we can create,” Declan says firmly. “Worth formal recognition, worth community support, worth every good thing we can give you.”
“What about your families?” Karma asks. “Do they need time to plan travel, or will this be too complicated with the holidays?”
“Mom’s already making plans to drive down from Vermont,” I say, smiling at the memory of her immediate enthusiasm. “She’s been waiting years for us to figure out we were more than business partners. Says she always knew we were pack.”
“My family will descend like a diplomatic invasion,” Reed confirms, ocean spray bright with anticipation. “Parents, siblings, probably half of Brookline once word gets out. Fair warning—they’re enthusiastic about celebrations.”
“And your family, Declan?” Karma prompts gently.
Declan pauses before grinding out, “Blake can go to hell, but my parents will want to be here. They’ve been asking about you since I mentioned pack courtship. They’re good people, Karma. They’ll love you.”
“Even after everything with Blake?”
“Especially after everything with Blake. They know he’s a disaster.” Declan’s smile is small but genuine. “Meeting you will prove that their other son figured out how to find something real.”
“Speaking of family and Boston logistics,” I say, pulling out my phone, “I’ve been looking at housing options while Iwas in Vermont. Found some possibilities that might work for pack.”
“You’ve been house hunting?” Karma’s voice goes soft with wonder. “While you were working?”
“Mostly online stuff. Figured I’d have some options ready when we’re ready to decide.” I scroll to the real estate photos I’ve bookmarked during long evenings in Vermont hotel rooms. “This one caught my attention. Four bedrooms, three baths, original hardwood, updated kitchen. Good bones.”
Karma leans into my shoulder, studying the photos with growing excitement. “It’s beautiful. Those kitchen windows, the built-in bookshelves, that fireplace...” She looks up at me with shining eyes. “This feels like home already.”
“We should plan a trip up there next week,” Declan suggests. “Look at houses in person, meet with Sterling about your start date, maybe scout logistics while we’re ahead.”
“Boston scouting trip sounds perfect,” Reed agrees with diplomatic enthusiasm. “Though I vote we keep the ceremony here in Anchor’s Rest. This is where our story started.”
“Absolutely here,” Karma says firmly, as she unconsciously straightens the salt shaker one more time. “This is where we found each other. Where everything began. I want to make our promises here, with this community as witnesses.”
“Anchor’s Rest ceremony, Boston future,” I summarize, watching her create perfect order with small, unconscious movements. “Best of both worlds.”
“Exactly.” Karma smiles. “We start here, we build something beautiful together, then we take it with us wherever life leads.”
Reed raises his water glass in a toast. “To bonding ceremonies and new beginnings.”
“To pack and possibilities,” Declan adds, lifting his glass up to toast.
“To coming home,” I finish, watching my pack—myfamily, my chosen people—smile at each other across our dinner table while their scents weave together into something that smells like forever.
We drink to that, to the future we’re building together, to the love that brought us through compass theft and family drama and unexpected job offers to this moment of perfect domestic contentment.
Tomorrow we’ll start planning ceremonies and house hunting and all the logistics of building a life together. Tonight, we’re just pack, settled around our table, making plans and dreams come true.
Tonight, I’m exactly where I belong.
Karma
The last ofGrandma Rose’s china gets wrapped in tissue paper with the reverent care of someone handling family heirlooms, which I guess is exactly what I’m doing.
Each piece tells a story—the teacup with the tiny chip from when I was seven and thought I could wash dishes like a grown-up, the serving platter that held countless holiday meals, the sugar bowl that somehow survived four moves and my mother’s teenage rebellion phase. My fingers trace the familiar rose pattern along each rim, muscle memory from years of careful washing and drying.
“You sure you want to take all of this to Boston?” Destiny asks, settling another wrapped plate into the moving box with practiced efficiency. She smells like coffee and worry, which is pretty much Destiny’s default state when she thinks I’m making questionable life choices. “I mean, I get that it’s family heirlooms, but girl, you’re about to be living in a fancy Back Bay townhouse with three men who probably have actual matching dinnerware sets that didn’t survive four generations of family drama. Sets that came from the same store instead of whatever survived your grandmother’s estate sale.”
“That’s exactly why I need Grandma’s china,” I say, wrapping the gravy boat in newspaper dated three months ago—back when my biggest worry was making rent instead of planning bonding ceremonies and cross-country moves. The paper crinkles under my fingers, headlines about local lighthouse renovations and fishing boat schedules now serving as protective padding for family treasures. “Their matching dinnerware doesn’t have stories from this kitchen. It won’t have memories of Sunday dinners right here at this table, or Grandma teaching me how to properly stack the dishwasher so the good plates don’t chip.”
