Page 2 of Knot Your Karma (Not Yours #1)

“It’s for his bonding ceremony this winter.

” His whole face changes when he talks about family—jaw unclenching, eyes warming.

The kind of expression that makes you want to help him with whatever he needs, even if you’re the reason he needs help.

“Five generations of Mitchell men have carried this compass into their bonding ceremonies. It’s supposed to represent finding your true north, your permanent harbor. ”

Five generations.

Five fucking generations, and I sold it to someone who specializes in making things disappear forever.

“Wow. Five generations.” My customer service smile feels like it might crack my face in half. “That’s... that’s really something.”

“Which is why we need to find it.” He leans against my counter, and I catch myself leaning closer to him while he talks, then force myself to step back.

My body apparently doesn’t get the memo about this being a disaster.

“I know Blake isn’t perfect—trust me, I know better than anyone—but family traditions matter.

This compass has guided Mitchell men home for over a century. ”

And I sold it for twelve hundred cash because I was pissed off about being cheated on.

“Have you tried other dealers? Estate sale people?”

“My partners and I are starting with the maritime specialists first. We figure anyone who’d buy a compass like that would know what they’re looking at.

” He smiles, and it does terrible things to my already-racing pulse.

“I wasn’t expecting to find someone who actually knows maritime antiques, though. Most places we’ve been...”

“Let me guess—they hear antique compass and immediately start showing you tourist junk with Made in China stickers still attached?”

“Exactly.” His smile widens. “One guy tried to sell me a plastic ship’s wheel and insisted it’s authentic nautical.”

Despite the growing disaster of this conversation, I let out that embarrassing snort-laugh that Destiny says makes me sound like I’m twelve. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, but he’s grinning like it’s the best sound he’s heard all day. “Oh no. Please tell me you didn’t buy it.”

“Do I look like someone who’d fall for plastic maritime memorabilia?”

“No, you look like someone who actually knows the difference between oak and particle board.” I gesture at his work-worn hands, then catch myself staring and duck my head. “Let me guess—historic preservation? Restoration work?”

Is this flirting? It feels like flirting.

“Good eye. Second Chances Restoration. My partners and I specialize in bringing old buildings back to life using traditional techniques.”

Of course, he does something noble and meaningful.

“That must be interesting work.”

“It is. There’s something satisfying about taking something broken and making it whole again.” The way he says it, looking directly at me, makes my stomach flip. “Kind of like what you do here, in a way. Give old things new homes where they’ll be appreciated.”

“Exactly.” Stop being charming. Please. This is already the worst possible situation.

“Well, I haven’t seen anything matching that description come through here recently.

” Technically true—I saw it on Blake’s nightstand, not in my shop.

“But I’ll definitely keep an eye out. Leave me your contact info, and if anything like that surfaces, I’ll call immediately. ”

“That would be amazing.” He pulls out his wallet—thick leather, worn smooth at the edges—and hands me his card while simultaneously picking mine up off the counter.

“You know, it’s been really nice talking to someone who gets passionate about maritime history.

When this whole compass situation is resolved, maybe I could come back?

Look around when I’m not stressed about family drama? Karma Rose.”

Oh my, the way he says my name… It’s like an instant slick attack .

He’s interested. Actually interested, and I can see it in the way he’s looking at me like I might be worth getting to know better.

Worst possible timing in the history of terrible timing.

“I’d like that,” I hear myself saying, because apparently my mouth has completely disconnected from my brain. “I could show you some of the pieces I don’t usually bring out for customers.”

“It’s a date then. Well, not a date-date unless you want it to be, but—” He runs his hand through his hair again, and for the first time, he looks a little flustered. “I’m going to stop talking now before I embarrass myself further.”

“You’re not embarrassing yourself.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Great.” He heads toward the door, work boots solid on my grandmother’s wooden floors. Then he pauses, hand on the doorframe. “Oh, and Karma? Thanks for taking this seriously. A lot of people would have just brushed off some guy looking for his brother’s lost compass.”

If only you knew I’m the reason it’s lost.

“Family heirlooms matter,” I manage. “Especially ones with that kind of history.”

“Exactly.” He smiles one more time—devastating, absolutely devastating. “I’ll see you soon, Karma Rose.”

The way he says my full name makes my stomach flip despite every rational thought screaming at me.

“See you soon, Declan.”

The door closes behind him, and the shop feels too empty when it does, like the air pressure changes.

I listen to the shop bell vibrate for thirty seconds before sliding down the wall behind my counter until I’m sitting on the floor, surrounded by the pen I dropped, yesterday’s bank statements, and what feels like the wreckage of any chance I have at happiness.

Blake’s brother. Blake’s gorgeous, cedar-scented alpha brother who does meaningful work and looks at me like I might be something special.

And I just lied to his face about stealing his family’s most precious tradition.

I stare at Declan’s business card. Second Chances Restoration. Historic Preservation Specialists.

My phone buzzes.

Destiny: How’s the shop today? Any cute customers?

Me: You have no idea. And it’s complicated.

Destiny: Complicated how? Good complicated or bad complicated?

Me: The kind where karma might actually be real, and mine is about to run me over with a truck.

Destiny: Do I need to come over there? Explain.

Me: The kind where I think I’m in love with someone I can never have.

Destiny: WHAT. I’m coming over.

Me: No, wait. I need to figure this out first.

Destiny: Karma Rose, if you don’t start making sense in the next five minutes...

I put the phone down and look around my shop. This is my life now. Hiding behind Victorian furniture, texting my best friend about boys I can’t have because I make spectacularly bad choices.

I press my face into my knees and can still smell rain-soaked wood on my cardigan where his shoulder brushed mine.

The scent that had me practically purring five minutes ago now makes my stomach clench.

Same fragrance, completely different effect.

My body is still humming with whatever that recognition is—the kind of biological response Blake never triggered, not even at the beginning.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Because somewhere out there, Declan Mitchell is continuing his search for his family’s compass. The compass that’s sitting in some private collection because I decided revenge was more important than moral high ground.

And this winter, Blake is going to have his bonding ceremony without the family heirloom.

The loan notice is still face-down under my bank statement, but suddenly nearly three grand seems like the least of my problems.

I look down at his business card—Second Chances Restoration—and laugh, but it comes out more like a sob. The universe’s idea of a joke: show me exactly what I’ve been looking for, then make sure I’m the last person who deserves to have it.

This is what I get for dating a narcissist and then making petty theft my closure strategy.

If only.