Page 47 of Close Knit

“There you go again with the assumptions,” I say, needling.

“I’ll need to cut it out or you’ll have me on the ground doing push-ups again.”

I let out a noise between a gasp and a laugh. “I’m glad you’re finally understanding how this relationship is going to work.”

“We’re going to a garden. Just wear comfortable shoes.” The gentle firmness in his voice shoots a shiver up my spine.

“Yes, sir.”

A little harmless flirting is okay between friends, right? I slip on the boots beside my “Knit Happens” welcome mat.

“Did you get the apology gift I left for you?” Cameron asks from above me.

The day after we were trapped together, a soft-serve ice cream maker showed up at my door. At first, I didn’t know if I should accept it, but who am I kidding? I like nice things, andif Mr. Grumpy Pants wants to max out his credit card trying to make up for how he acted, I won’t stop him.

“I did, but you can’t buy your way into an apology.”

“That’s not what—”

“Also, I like milkshakes, not soft serve,” I deadpan.

He frowns. “I—”

“I’m messing with you, Goose. It was one of thesweetestgifts I’ve ever received, thank you. If today goes well, I may even invite you over for a special treat.”

That look blooms over his features again, but it extinguishes when I finally stand. “I don’t do sugar, remember?”

“You didn’tdofriends either, but look at us!” He cocks his head, and I piece together the insinuation. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that you may change your mind. If you don’t, then you can do your push-ups, and I’ll be horizontal on the couch, enjoying my dessert.”

“Sounds like you’d enjoy that.”

“I might!” I chirp, shrugging on my coat. “Lead the way.”

We make like birds and swoop down the stairs, bypassing the ghost town that is the common room. Only a couple more episodes ofLust Islandare left this season, but the guys and I are set on maintaining our Wednesday night knitting circle and reality TV tradition. Next up on the docket isThe Great British Bake Off. There’s still a month and a half until the auction for Femi, and with only Sven having an auction-worthy scarf ready, the rest of the guys need to catch up.

Maybe Cameron will cave and join us eventually. He’d probably see a kindred spirit in Paul Hollywood’s stern and serious demeanor. Actually, he and Paul are two peas in a pod. Both are equipped with a hard exterior and a soft, warm center.

Like an éclair.

Aw! Cameron is just a grumpy éclair.

The early October air bites at my skin as I step outside. The scent of fallen leaves, damp earth, and smoke hangs heavy in the air. I trail after him down the sidewalk until Cameron circles around a car, one that could more accurately be described as a metallic panther, and gallantly opens the passenger door for me.

“Get in.” He tosses his head toward the seat.

“This is your car?” I stand frozen with shock.

The shiny black exterior gleams even beneath the overcast sky. It’s low to the ground and has headlights that resemble a predator’s eyeballs. In so many ways, it’s the only car a brooding guy like him could have.

“I don’t do the Tube,” he says.

“This thing must’ve cost a fortune.”

“My baby sister, Frankie, designed it. She’s a junior driver this year.”

“Huh?”

“F1. Motorsport.”

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