Page 12 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)
Karma
I’m staring at 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 and immediately 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,” I say, 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.
By the time I’m done, Destiny is grinning like Christmas morning. “Did I mention he also fed me?”
“Good for you,” she says, raising her mug in a mock toast. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”
“Perfect? Destiny, I basically threw myself at a stranger!” I gesture wildly with my coffee cup, nearly splashing Destiny.
“Who I’d never met before today! Who caught me falling off a ladder and then somehow ended up with his face six inches from mine and I wanted to kiss him so badly I forgot how to breathe! ”
“You didn’t throw yourself at a stranger.
You had chemistry with someone who caught you in a scary moment, and you almost acted on it like a normal, healthy omega.
” She sips her spiked coffee, her expression serious but supportive.
“This is good news, Mija . After Blake’s bullshit, you deserve someone who makes you feel like you’re worth wanting. ”
“Someone, singular. Not multiple someones!” My voice goes up slightly, and I glance around to make sure the coffee shop is still empty. “Normal omegas don’t want multiple partners!”
Destiny slides the Bailey’s bottle across the table without being asked. “ Mija , your definition of normal is deeply flawed. Tell me about the multiple someones situation.”
I pour another splash into my coffee and try to organize my thoughts. “Pack life is still new. My mom had one mate. One who left her for an omega. My Grandma Rose, had one mate.”
“You live in a world where pack dynamics are completely normal,” Destiny continues, leaning forward. “Multiple partners with one omega isn’t weird, it’s a hot Friday night.”
When Destiny says pack dynamics , the word makes me sit up straighter in the booth. I don’t mean to—my spine just straightens like someone called my name. My pulse quickens, and something low in my stomach flutters with want.
“But I’m attracted to both of them. Differently, but equally. And I almost kissed Reed even though I kissed Declan. Is that... is that normal?”
“Honey, you’re a late-blooming omega who’s still figuring out what you want. Maybe your instincts are telling you that you need more than one partner. Maybe you’re built for pack life.”
“Or maybe I’m just broken and defective and that’s why I can’t pick one person like a normal omega.” The words come out smaller than I intended, and I press my palms flat against the table.
“Or maybe you’re perfectly fine and you just happen to be compatible with multiple people.
” Destiny reaches across and squeezes my hand, her warm touch immediately soothing.
“Listen to me—you’re not collecting pack members like Pokémon cards.
You’re responding to people who make you feel good about yourself. ”
“Even if what I want is... complicated?”
“Especially if what you want is complicated. The best things usually are. And honey, after Blake made you think you weren’t enough for one person, maybe the universe is showing you that you’re actually enough for three.”
I take a long drink of my spiked coffee and try to process this. The word pack keeps echoing in my head, and every time it does, something in my chest loosens like a knot finally being untied.
“Reed mentioned there’s a third one. Adrian.”
“And you’re worried about being attracted to him too?”
“I’m terrified I’ll be attracted to him too, and also terrified I won’t be, and also terrified about what it means if I am.
” I start tearing the fresh napkin into strips.
“What if my omega brain just completely short-circuits and I end up doing something even more embarrassing than falling off a ladder?”
“Then you’ll deal with it. Like you dealt with Declan’s intensity and Reed’s charm.”
“This is insane. Two days ago I was single and focusing on my business. Now I’m apparently collecting gorgeous men like they’re limited-edition antiques, and I can’t even follow through on kissing all of them.”
“You’re not collecting anything. You’re responding to people you’re compatible with. Dare I say a scent match.” Destiny’s expression becomes more serious. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”