Page 90 of Knot Your Karma
“When I learned that Elizabeth’s granddaughter had sold me a stolen compass,” Sterling says, hope flickering across his features before he tries to suppress it, “when I realized that Karma Rose was Elizabeth’s granddaughter and Lilli’s daughter—well. It felt like the universe was being rather insistent about something. Or rather, handing me my own Karma if you will.” His eyes twinkle with that last bit.
“You ran a background check on me.” It’s not a question.
“Thoroughly. I know about your shop, your financial situation, your expertise, your pack.” He has the grace to look apologetic but not ashamed. “I also know you’re every bit as remarkable as your mother and grandmother.”
“And now you have some kind of business proposition,” I say, because I can see it in his expression. “Something thatconveniently helps with my money problems while giving you an excuse to reconnect with my mother.”
Sterling’s laugh is surprised and delighted. “You really are Lilli’s daughter. She always could see right through people’s motivations. Yes, I have a proposition. Legitimate business, though I admit my motives aren’t entirely professional.”
He moves to grab a portfolio, and I can tell he’s nervous because he’s adjusting everything just so,everything has to be positioned exactly right or the universe might collapse,which honestly makes me like him more.
“I’ve built one of the most comprehensive private maritime collections on the East Coast,” he says, opening the portfolio to reveal photographs that make my hands shake. “Museums consult with me, auction houses seek my authentication, collectors trust my expertise. But I’m getting older, and I need someone with your eye, your knowledge, your instincts.”
The photographs show maritime artifacts so stunning they belong in the Smithsonian. Ship wheels, sextants, charts, compasses—pieces worth more than my entire shop’s inventory combined.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, then immediately clap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. Holy... wow. These are incredible.”
“I want to offer you a position as my head assessor and acquisition specialist,” Sterling continues, his nervous energy settling into professional enthusiasm. “Full salary, benefits, travel to locate pieces, unlimited access to the collection for research. You’d be working with museums, private collectors, auction houses—the kind of career most people in our field only dream about.”
My brain basically short-circuits trying to process what he just offered me, because this is the kind of job that maritime antique experts fantasize aboutwhile eating ramen and wondering if they can afford both rent and groceries this month.
I can feel my pack processing this alongside me—Declanleans forward, elbows on knees as he considers angles, Reed’s leg bounces with contained excitement, and Adrian’s hand settles warm on my shoulder, grounding me while my thoughts scatter.
“The compass,” I manage, because apparently that’s where my brain decided to focus.
“Yours, obviously. Along with anything else in my collection that belongs to your family.” Sterling closes the portfolio. “I’m not interested in profiting from pieces with personal significance. I’m interested in right things ending up where they belong.”
“And my mother?” I ask quietly, though I think I already know the answer.
Sterling’s composed expression cracks slightly, and thirty years of longing bleed through his polished exterior. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you’d mention to Lilli that you met me. That I’ve spent thirty years regretting how things ended. That I never stopped...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to.
“She lives in Providence now,” I say, watching hope flicker across his features like sunrise. “She’s not bonded. My Dads left after the divorce when I was twelve.”
“I see.” Sterling does this nervous finger-drumming thing against his knee, and for a moment he looks exactly like that seventeen-year-old boy in the yearbook photo. “Well. The offer stands regardless of any personal considerations. Your expertise speaks for itself, Karma. This position is yours because you’ve earned it, not because of any history between your mother and me.”
I shift closer to my pack, somehow needing their combined scents and presence to process something this huge. This isn’t what any of us expected when we came here tonight.
“I...” I start, then stop, because how do you respond to something like this? The job offer is legitimate, incredible, life-changing. The personal connection is romantic and complicated and completely out of left field. And somehow it all centers around a compass that brought my pack together in the first place.
“You don’t need to answer tonight,” Sterling says, pouring more wine like he’s afraid it might escape if he’s not careful enough. “This is a lot to process, I’m sure. Take the compass—it belongs with your family regardless. Take some time to consider the position. And if you’d like to mention to your mother that you met an old friend who thinks about her fondly...”
He trails off, hope and vulnerability written across his face like an open book.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, because it’s the only honest answer I can give. “All of it.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Sterling moves to another glass case and removes the compass I sold to Sage months ago, handling it like the precious thing it is. “This should be with people who understand its story.”
When he places it in my hands, I feel the weight of more than just brass and crystal. This compass brought my pack together, led us to each other, and apparently led us to this moment where my mother’s lost love is offering me the career of my dreams while hoping for a second chance at happiness.
The compass needle does its little dance before settling north, which feels suspiciously like the universe making a point about directions and destiny, though I’m probably overthinking compass symbolismbecause that’s exactly the kind of person I am.
“Thank you,” I say, warmth spreading through my chest. “For everything.”
“Thank you,” Sterling replies, his voice soft with thirty years of hope, “for giving an old fool the chance to make amends.”
As we prepare to leave, Sterling walks us to the door like someone who doesn’t want to seem desperate but doesn’t want the evening to end either. He straightens his already-perfect sweater and touches his glasses one final time.
