Page 105 of Close Knit

“Do wop.” Dani joins her, snapping her fingers. “If it could stay awhile!”

“You guys!” I roll over, laughing.

My heart flutters. Cameron’s married to football. But maybe, just maybe, there’s room for a person in his life too. A person who truly gets him.

“This could be a hopeful romance story after all.” Prim smiles.

Chapter 28

Daphne

The Hastings FamilyChristmas has shot straight to the top of my favorite Yes Year experiences list.

For the past three hours, Cameron’s family, family friends, and I have been cozied up on a covered patio at a teak table big enough for his entire football team. The chorus of crickets and crisp, sixty-degree California winter air created a bubble of warmth, flushed cheeks, and full bellies.

I glance around, letting it all sink in. The Hastingses are just as striking and beautiful as Cameron.

Eight faces, eight stories, all with those strong brows, chiseled jaws, golden eyes, and dark brown hair—except for Ezra, the family’s delightful plot twist with his dirty blonde locks.

At the head of the table, Leo and Selene Hastings sit, radiating soulmate-level love. They’re like Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but with less assassinating and more swooning. No wonder every member of this family is such a knockout.

Cameron’s siblings are just as intense as he is—and now I see why. His eldest brother, Alec, is detailing plans to conquer a terrifying Icelandic mountain with his best friend Finn, who’shere for dinner too. Selene’s making a case for a tracking device, but Alec and Finn’s nods scream,We’re totally not doing that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cameron whispers, his breath warm in my ear. He’s wearing the red sweater I knit him, despite his siblings’ relentless teasing about it looking like a dry cleaner’s worst nightmare. He just grunted and brushed the jabs off.

There’s a very obvious pain behind his eyes, even as he’s trying his best to keep his spirits up for everyone’s sake. In the months we’ve spent together, I’ve learned to see all the small signs of his retreat.

The tension in his jaw. The cuticle picking. The crease between his brows. He deserves to feel at ease after what happened at the Overton game. Any kind of relief. I can’t imagine how much it’s hurting him, and he’s not letting it show.

I finish my bite of tiramisu and tilt toward him, nudging the top of my head against his jaw. “Merry Christmas, Goose.”

“Merry Christmas, Duck.” Under the table, he alternates between toying with the hem of my sweater dress and digging his nails into his fingers.

“I still can’t believe you made this,” Brooklyn says, admiring the glittering ice skate ornament I crocheted. Cameron’s oldest sister looks like she was birthed out of Aphrodite’s rock. When I first saw her, I had to do everything I possibly could to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

“It was really nothing,” I say, trying to wave off the praise.

I made ornaments for each of his family members, tokens from their favorite sport. I feel a little bad for not accounting for the extras—Ezra’s fiancée Hazel, Finn, and Dante’s entire university entourage of six. But no one made me feel awkward about it.

“My girlfriend has this frustratingly charming habit of underestimating how amazing she is.” Cameron’s arm snugly wraps around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Wait, did he just say girlfriend? Did he mean me? My mind fizzes with questions.

“I can see that.” Brooklyn raises her wineglass in my direction with a knowing smile. “I’m definitely attaching this to my skate bag.”

The conversation flows on, but my brain is stuck on repeat, replaying the moment Cameron casually dropped the girlfriend bomb.

I shoot him a look that’s a mix ofWhat did you just sayandNo, seriously, Cameron, what on earth did you just say, but he’s unaware, now fiddling with his tiny soccer ball instead of noticing my existential crisis.

It’s not until I catch Brooklyn’s eye that she says, “Thank you for helping our brother.”

“What do you mean?” I say, but everyone around the table shares a knowing glance.

“Now that you’re here, he’s finally softened up.”

“I’m not soft,” he grumbles in his typical way.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Dante rolls his eyes.

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