Page 31 of Close Knit

Cameron

September 13

Lyndhurst Stumbles Again with Another Draw Against Alderly

After today’s practice,I needed some relief. That’s how I ended up with over £632 worth of candles from Beacon & Bramble Company, all in a futile attempt to capture her scent. And then there was the sugar cookie I bought last Friday—temptation in a neat little package. It went straight in the trash, though; I couldn’t bring myself to eat it.

I shrug my wet leather jacket over my shoulder and linger at the entrance to the common room. Daphne’s been decorating again—she’s added these mismatched throw pillows and two blankets, one orange and the other navy blue. My fingers itch as I wander to the sofa and touch the fuzzy yarn.

It’s soft and warm, like she was. A shiver runs down my neck. I feel like a fucking creep as I pick up the blue throw. But here I am, standing mesmerized like a kid holding his first football.

Keeping my distance has been pointless. I find myself pressing my ear against our shared bedroom wall, waiting tocatch any sound of what she’s up to, or squinting at the labels on her packages just to see where they’re from. It’s absurd, especially sinceI’veaccusedherof stalking. And here I am, stroking a blanket just for a fleeting connection.

“Help!” A piercing shout echoes through the Lodge, snapping me out of my daze.Daphne?

I drop the blanket, grab my bag, and rush upstairs toward the commotion.

Daphne’s door is propped open with a giant cardboard box. She stands on her bright pink couch. Her tiny pajama shorts are both a blessing and a curse because, damn, those legs are heavenly. Her baggy sweatshirt has two yarn balls strategically placed on her breasts with the wordsShow Me Your Knitsin bold letters. I snort. She’s a walking contradiction—annoyingly adorable and infuriatingly sexy all at once. It’s like the universe decided to create my own personal brand of torture by thrusting her into my life.

“Help!” she cries again, oblivious to my presence.

“What the hell is going on?” I bark, scanning the room for any sign of trouble. Two mugs sit on the coffee table, and yarn is scattered everywhere. Is someone else here?

“What are you doing?” Her brows shoot up in shock, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

I state the obvious. “You screamed.”

“Not for you!” she snaps back, crossing her arms defensively. “You don’t need to barge in here like some knight in tarnished armor.”

“Right.” I turn to leave, but not before saying, “I’ll remember that for the next time you scream for help.”

“Good, because I don’t need saving,” she fires back. “Especially not by someone who thinks the world revolves around them.” I grunt in response. “Oh my god, it’s flying!”Daphne shouts, pressing herself into the corner of the couch, climbing onto the armrests, and grabbing the wall for balance.

Let it go, Cameron.

She doesn’t need me.

“Daphne?” Gustafsson barrels down the hall toward us. “What happened? I was only gone a second!”

A twinge of jealousy blooms in my chest. They’re hanging out at her place together?

She points a trembling finger toward the floor, shifting her feet on her couch like she’s walking on hot coals. “There’s a s-spider, Sven! A big one.” A throaty scream hums through her mouth. “It has wings!”

Gustafsson lets out a high-pitched scream that doesn’t match his physique. He shoves me aside and leaps onto a kitchen chair, arms flailing as he yells, “Ahhh! It’s going to eat us!”

They’re acting like a rabid dog has invaded the Lodge.

“Seriously?” I say, standing at the entryway. “It’s just a spider.”

“I have.” He gulps, growing paler by the second. “How do you say it?Araknofobi.”

“Arachnophobia?” Daphne clarifies.

Then why would he run into her apartment instead of back to his own?I hide my begrudging eye roll.

“It’s a huge one! Please, get rid of it!” Gustafsson yelps.

“It’ll go away on its own,” I grumble, spinning on my heels to leave.

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