Page 142 of Close Knit

“Thank you everyone for coming! I’m Daphne Quinn, the mastermind behind Wooly Duck.” My nerves cartwheel around my body as I look out at the packed room of fifty women, memorizing each of their faces. “This year, I embarked on a Yes Year. Basically, I signed myself up for a roller coaster of anxiety, trying scary new things, making friends, and generally grabbing life by the—excuse my language—balls,” I add, earning a chuckle from the crowd.

“People always said I was too much—too loud, too enthusiastic, too different. I was the outcast who got shoved into lockers and had her gym clothes stolen. So I hid my realself, trying to fit into their mold.” I pause, seeing nods and understanding eyes. “In my quest to be normal, I suffocated who I was. Anxiety took over, making me question every move.” I shrug with a laugh. “Then I found knitting and a fluoxetine prescription. Knitting became my refuge, transforming my anxiety into something beautiful. It gave me the courage to embrace who I truly am.”

The room pulses with silent nods and glistening eyes. The soft clicking of knitting needles whispers back to me. “Knitting and this community taught me something invaluable. Being too much isn’t a flaw; it’s a testament to life,” I say, my voice trembling with emotion. “This year, I learned that being brave enough to fail, resilient enough to feel, and audacious enough to live with your heart leading the way is something special. Yourtoo muchis just too vibrant for someone else’stoo little.”

My heart swells. “So, thank you all for helping me stretch the boundaries of my world this year. Thank you for letting mytoo muchweave into yours. And let’s enjoy the weekend.”

The room bursts into applause as I step away from the mic, and suddenly I’m engulfed by a swarm of new friends. I thought I’d be terrified for my first in-person meet and greet, but as soon as the first person walks up to me, my nerves fade away. It feels like being surrounded by a hive of incredibly supportive, yarn-loving bees. Their excitement is contagious, and I feel like the queen bee in this cozy hive. My cheeks ache from smiling, but I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

Petal & Plate is decorated perfectly—exposed brick walls adorned with lush, trailing plants and twinkling fairy lights. Wooden shelves display colorful skeins of yarn and cozy knitted blankets, adding warmth to the space. After our kickoff session, we do icebreakers, the room buzzing with laughter and conversation. The vibes are immaculate, and Rosie’s almond croissants disappeared within the hour—I may have had three.Bea showed up, ensuring I took a water and food break mid-morning. My sister and moms joined over video call for Miranda Lambright’s chat about wool production.

A reporter from theStone Timesstopped by to cover the event.

As people break for lunch and I’m binding off my third beanie, I hear, “Daphne Quinn!”

I turn and spot Georgia Woods walking through Petal & Plate in a crochet sweater dress that hugs all her curves. Her pink hair is thrown up in a perfectly imperfect messy bun. After a month of video calls designing outfits together, she is even more gorgeous in person. I’m so awestruck, I might just faint. “It’s so nice to meet you in person!” she says, hugging me.

“Oh my god, you smell so good,” I blurt out, laughing. “I mean, hi, thank you for coming.”

“And you smell like a vanilla bean cupcake. We gotta swap perfume links.” She shoots me a cheeky smile. “Congrats on your event. This place is a stunner.”

How is this my freaking life? “You flatter me! I had so much fun working on the strawberry skirt pattern you designed last week. Whoever ends up with it may have to sleep with one eye open.”

We have about ten designs finalized for the show, but we need about fifty more before the start of the season in two months.

“Tell me about it. I made it on my season, but it disappeared before I even had a chance to wear it. I swear, one of the girls put it in their suitcase.”

“They did not! Well, come this way, I’ll help you get settled in,” I say, leading her up the stairs while people finish up their lunch. Georgia agreed to co-lead a breakout session with me today about cyberbullying and the importance of fosteringkindness and empathy online. Our first officialLust Islandinitiative together!

“I was thinking about your comment last week, about how we can start documenting our collaboration. We should totally take a picture today. Do some fun hinting on the socials, right?” she asks.

“Let’s do it,” I respond, my words bubbling over with giddy excitement.

We get set up, strategically laying out our yarn and needles, and snap a photo near the table Cameron and I sat at when he first brought me here.

Our session is a success. Georgia opens up about being bullied after winning last season. She shares how anonymous trolls flooded her social media with cruel comments, mocking her appearance and questioning her talent, which led her to take a month away from all platforms to regain her mental health. Her story, so similar to my own, resonates deeply.

Others join in, sharing their experiences. Sarah, a twenty-year-old who flew out from New York, recounts how a jealous coworker spread lies about her at the office, making her dread going to work every day. Ursula, a university student, speaks about classmates creating a fake profile to harass her online, leaving her feeling isolated and scared to attend school.

It becomes clear that everyone has encountered someone who has tried to tear them down. By the end of the session, there isn’t a dry eye in sight.

The rest of the day whizzes by in a blur of yarn and laughter. Cocktail hour is a riot. I feel like I’ve found a community that’s more like family. If I could bottle up the support and enthusiasm in that room, I’d be a billionaire.

I leave Petal & Plate with cheeks aching from a daylong grin and a heart so full it might burst. One thing’s for sure—eventhough there’s one more day left, I can confidently say this won’t be my last retreat.

My fingers throb with fatigue, and exhaustion seeps in as I ride the elevator up to Cameron’s apartment. He insisted I stay here instead of taking a taxi home in the middle of the night. I turn on the lights and look up, and there he is.

I shake my head in disbelief. There’s no way he’s here. But then his flat expression blooms into a warm smile as he sees me.

My Cameron. In his kit. Clutching a bouquet of flowers like a kid with a winning lottery ticket.

“What are you doing here?” I squeak out, practically launching myself into his arms. He wraps me in a bear hug. “You have a game tomorrow morning,” I remind him. “You’re supposed to be three hours away and resting, mister!”

“I know.” He draws me closer and inhales deeply. “I came right after training, and I have to drive back, but I needed to see you on your big day. And do this.” He kisses me, leaving me stunned. My knees go wobbly. My insides soften like a fire-roasted marshmallow as his warmth envelops me.

His eyes twinkle with admiration as he leans in, his lips brushing gently against my forehead, then my lips again.

“I’m so happy to see you,” I murmur, burying my face into his chest.

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