Page 22 of Close Knit

I could venture out into the cold rain and find a cafe to hang out at.

Or…I could go downstairs. Maybe the boys who helped me move my couch are home. I could invite them to hang out. Reality TV is always more entertaining with company.

Just go for it, Daph.

I spring into action and flick on the kettle. As the water does its bubbly dance, I shimmy into my glittery gold Gingersnap Sweater, the one that makes me feel like a warm, just-out-of-the-oven cookie. I pack up my scarf project, grab a throw blanket, and pour a steaming mug of hibiscus tea. Armed with all my comforts, I step out of my apartment, and the first thing I see is his door.

Cameron Hastings.

Stalking him? He wishes.

Of course, we’d end up as neighbors by some cruel twist of fate.

A single wall separates our apartments, with our front doors facing each other across a narrow hallway, while my bedroom shares a wall with his. His doors are so creaky that I’ve learned his schedule—he usually leaves around seven in the morning and gets home around nine at night. He won’t be back for a couple more hours. But other than the noisy doors, hisapartment is always silent. He must’ve lied about liking house and techno music when we first met. I bet he just sits in silence, muttering sarcastic remarks at dust bunnies.

My duck-printed slippers shuffle forward, and I press my ear to his door.

What does it look like in there? My only experience with boys’ apartments was my college boyfriend’s: laundry in the corner and Mötley Crüe posters held up by duct tape.

Cameron probably has a sports shrine or a lit-up cabinet for protein powder—two things equally devoid of personality. How much of the man I met in San Francisco would show through in his home? He was kind, tender, even funny. But the guy from last week? A completely different story.

I don’t know what to expect from him. It’s not as if he’ll magically transform back into the guy who made knitting jokes and smiled about his grandparents’ Valentine’s Day dates.

I hear a creak from inside, and my breath catches as I bolt down the stairs.

When I reach the common room, it’s disappointingly empty. But at least it’s a new hangout spot, and there’s a 90-inch television.

I carefully navigate around the sticky door. This house was built on a slope, and my moms warned me that getting out of the common room without a helper on the other side is like solving an escape room.

Before I settle onto the oversized sectional, I throw my blanket over the cushion to fend off the lingering boy stains etched into the upholstery. Despite the faint musk of sweat and cologne, it’s manageable. Grabbing the remote, I nestle into my nook, untangle my yarn, and hit play onLust Island—a reality TV show where single people come together in a villa to find love. As I cast on my first stitches, I can’t help but wonder if my Yes Year might lead me to my own unexpected romance. But fornow, I’m content with the drama unfolding on screen and the soft yarn sliding through my fingers.

By the timethe front door creaks open, my scarf is nearly finished, my tea is empty, and I haven’t had any panic attacks about my retreat. On-screen, Mal Kelly, this season’s pot-stirrer, hurls a drink at some poor guy who chose the new bombshell over her.

The team floods into the lobby wearing white and purple uniforms, grass-stained jerseys, and workout gear. Some head upstairs, others to the common room.

Huh, Cameron isn’t with them.

I grab the remote and start to gather my things as Omar flops down next to me. “Daphne! You finally came out!”

“Hey, guys.” I smile. They remembered my name.

“Are you watchingLust Island? I’ve been trying to catch up but can’t find the time,” Omar says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sven drops down on my other side. “Hey, neighbor.” He says in a heavy Norwegian accent. “That Georgia Woods is…what do you call her, Ibrahim?” He looks around.

“Fit, Sven. Georgia Woods is fit.”

“She’s my absolute favorite. She is definitely going to win,” I say.

Omar smirks. “I’m more into the bloke she stole from Cat.”

They watchLust Island?

Okay, this is the coolest thing in the world.

“You hungry?” Sven asks. “Ordering a couple pies for the team. You want in?”

This is a yes moment served on a silver platter. “I’d love that.” I laugh. The common room is quickly starting to reek of sweatyboys. I politely tug my sweater over my nose, trying to mask the dude-stink.

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