Page 60 of Close Knit

“Well, that’s not the wildest idea, especially since it’s been working so well for us.”

“It’s different.”

“How so?”

Because you’re not my teammate and because you knock me off my feet effortlessly, asking for nothing in return—apart from making me cuddle sheep and wear a bright red sweater.“It just is.”

We sit there for a while, and the feeling of safety and weightlessness returns.

“Cameron?” Daphne’s voice cuts through the thick silence. My heart stutters, expecting the usual lecture on resilience.

“Daphne?”

“The sheep is eating your sweater.” She laughs, the sound light and infectious.

The tiny lamb in my lap gnaws on the hem of the sweater, mistaking me for its mother.

“Hey little guy, this is mine.” I gently tug the baby off.

Daphne is right. Saying yes to more of life’s ridiculous adventures might be the first step to finding myself again.

Today was just the beginning.

Chapter 13

Daphne

“I’m in love,”I declare, taking in the high ceilings at Petal & Plate, a cafe in Knightsbridge right beside Hyde Park. The place is bathed in natural light, and trailing plants drape over the exposed brick walls. The floors feature beautiful mosaic tiles, and there’s a cozy couch area by a wood-burning fireplace. It’s like a Pinterest board came to life.

“I thought you might like it.” Cameron nods.

It’s Saturday, and he spontaneously showed up at my door an hour ago, asking if I was hungry. I didn’t have the heart to admit I’d just polished off three waffles—I was too curious about his plans. When I joked about grabbing our disguises, he smirked, saying it would be private where we were going. And god, that smirk is irresistible.

“So, are you finally going to tell me why we’re here outside of our regularly scheduled Yes Year shenanigans?” I keep my tone light. But when his eyes drop to the ground, I regret asking. “You know I hate surprises.”

“No, it’s just—we had a draw today, and I didn’t want to sit alone in my apartment watching reruns of what went wrong on the pitch.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I needed to get out of my head for a bit.”

A hot blush creeps up my neck. “And I help you get out of your head?”

He meets my gaze with a mixture of surprise and another emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. “Yeah, you do. I wanted to be around someone who gets it…gets me.”

What does that mean?

The thought sends a thrill through me, a thrill that mingles with confusion. He must mean that in a friendly way.

Over the last week, I sent him a good luck text before his last game and teased him endlessly about hearting my Instagram story. Our DMs are filled with bird memes and private places around London that he wants to take me to.

Isn’t this what friends do? Send weird messages, help each other escape their minds, and make each other feel like they’ve had one too many shots of espresso whenever they’re together?

Totally normal.

“How do you know about this place?” I ask, putting a stop to my nonsensical thoughts. We shuffle forward; a few people are still ahead of us in line. I eye the pastries lit up in the display case. Half of them are sold out since it’s late afternoon, but the remaining ones glisten under the glass, practically begging to be devoured.

“My apartment is right across the street.”

I whip around, staring at him like he just told me he’s secretly a superhero. “You have a second apartment in Knightsbridge?”

He lifts a shoulder at me, a bit sheepish. “The Lodge is temporary. Coach insisted that it would help me bond with the team.”

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