Page 161 of Close Knit

“Is it bringing out my cool winter tones?” he retorts with a sarcastic grin, cupping the back of my head and pulling me in for a real kiss. No matter how many times we find ourselves in this exact situation, I always crave more.

Last week, for our Monday date night, I decided to spice things up and take us to get our color palettes analyzed. Picture this: Cameron, all banged up from his match over the weekend, sitting in a chic studio surrounded by swatches of every conceivable hue. The stylist, Stella—an eccentric woman in oversized glasses—draped different colored fabrics over his shoulders, declaring with utmost seriousness,These cool tones will make your big brown eyes pop!He just grunted and nodded along. I couldn’t stop laughing.

We still keep our weekly date night tradition alive, a relic from my Yes Year that’s nowourYes Life. Maybe one day we’ll exhaust our list of new activities, but until then, I fully intend to savor every cozy night we spend together. My favorite is ordering takeout from a new restaurant and watching a movie that will undoubtedly make Cameron cry. So far, the tearjerkers includeCoco,Marley & Me, andSuzume.

When I’m not orchestrating my retreats or working on new collaborations—which have skyrocketed after this season ofLust Island; other shows want exclusive Wooly Duck projects and celebrities want to use my patterns for fundraising—I’ve invested back into my business. This includes hiring a personal assistant to manage comments, plan retreats, and book guest speakers to discuss the importance of mental health.

AfterLust Islandended, Georgia and I had an inbox full of collaboration requests. I nearly fainted when we got asked to work on a new book-to-movie adaptation forSecrets, Sex, and Sunflowersby Lily Rodin, coming out early next year. I’m also running monthly knitting retreats at Petal & Plate, training people worldwide to host their own retreats, and have been a guest speaker on anxiety relief hobbies in Lisbon, Athens, and Oslo.

Talk about leveling up!

“What do you think?” I say, leaning back and unbuckling my seatbelt with a dramatic flourish. “By the end of the year, I’ll be rocking a fuchsia sweater. It’s totally on your color palette.”

He rolls his eyes, smirking. “I’ll wear one if you’re the one taking it off.”

I laugh. “Can I get that in writing?” I ask as he steps out of the car.

I hop out too, the crisp autumn breeze sending a delightful shiver down my spine.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me hire movers,” Cameron grumbles, yanking my suitcase from his car’s trunk, which is so tiny it barely fits a single item.

“Are you serious? You saw how pumped the guys were about helping us move.” Sven and Omar practically fell over themselves to get a sneak peek of Cameron’s apartment. They’ll be here soon with the moving truck—Omar borrowed one from his family, and, miraculously, it fit all my stuff. But I’m still stashing some things at my place at the Lion’s Lodge for our Wednesday night reality TV marathons.

“If anyone gets hurt, Coach will have our heads, especially since we’re on a winning streak,” Cameron says, though his tone is more amused than worried. He wheels my suitcase toward the elevator, and I trot along after him.

“Then you better pitch in, birthday boy.” I give his shoulder a playful nudge, and he grins as he hits the button for the penthouse suite.

“Before everyone gets here, I have a surprise for you,” he says.

“But it’syourbirthday!” I tilt my head, one eyebrow raised.

“And my favorite thing to do is spoil you,” he replies with a grin.

I laugh. “Well, who am I to deny you what you want on your birthday?” I give him a cheeky smile.

We stroll through our apartment. The sun is out, but the clouds are doing their best to stage a coup. He stops at the door of his second bedroom, which he’s been using as a gym.

“Go on,” he says, motioning me forward.

Curious, I push open the door and step into…an entirely different room. Custom-made cabinets line the walls, a cozy window nook looks out over the sprawling London skyline, and the walls are a soft, dreamy purple.

There’s my tripod facing a clean wall with fairy lights dangling down it. Baskets for my yarn. A giant corkboard with sparkling pins in it.

I turn to him, wide-eyed. “When did you have time to do all this?”

“I know a guy,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe like he didn’t just orchestrate an HGTV-level transformation overnight. “Do you like it?”

My heart thuds against my rib cage. “You made a whole room for me? But where are you going to work out? Your biceps have their own zip code!”

He chuckles. “I think they’ll survive. I’ve been liking working out at Lyndhurst Stadium with the guys. Besides, I thought you’d get more use out of it. I left space for your boucle chair, and your pink couch can go here. Now you can use this room to work on meetings and collaborations and to film all your YouTube videos.”

I blink. Cameron giving me a whole room is like a unicorn offering free rides—it’s magical and a bit unbelievable. This is next-level.

I wrap my hands around his waist. “I love it. Are you sure it’s not too much estrogen too fast?”

“Duck, how many times do I have to tell you that this isourhome? I love your stuff.”

“Even the sparkly pink things?”

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