Page 55 of Close Knit

See you at 2pm!!!!

I stareat her message from this morning, wondering if I’ve arrived at the right place. It took me forty minutes to drive into the middle of nowhere for Daphne’s Yes Year activity. My car is parked in an uneven, muddy lot facing a blue house with a matching barn beside it. Rain pelts my windshield as I periodically glance in the rearview mirror, looking for her.

Cameron

Where are you?

Daphne Quinn

Be there in ten minutes. :)

Cameron

Ok.

I tap my feet incessantly against the floor of my car, cycling through house music playlists, attempting to calm my restless nerves.

Finally, a taxi approaches. Someone gets out, swinging a bag in their hand as they walk down the gravel driveway. They have pitch-black short hair and are dressed in a black sweater and skirt combo, sporting a handlebar mustache that looks like it was stolen off a cowboy in a Western.

What in the hell?

That can’t be Daphne.

I exit my car, stepping straight into a muddy puddle. There go my brand-new sneakers.

“Hey, big dog!” they call out. I recognize the voice immediately.

“Daphne?”

“Ready for an adventure?” When she reaches me, she loses her composure, keeling forward as a burst of laughter tumbles out of her.

“What is all of this?”

“You don’t want to get recognized. So, I’ve come up with a solution.”

“Your solution is to drive into the middle of nowhere and dress up like Mia Wallace with a mustache?”

“Honestly, I’ll take that as a compliment. I thought the wig and mustache combo was giving a Velma meets Hulk Hogan vibe.” She snickers. If she thinks that look is attractive, then sure. “Do you like it?” She spins, her skirt flaring out slightly, and for a moment, the absurdity of her getup vanishes, leaving only the heat coiling around my spine. I hope she keeps up this spinning routine each time we hang out.

“You look ridiculous,” I mutter, trying to suppress a grin.

She stops twirling and places a hand on her hip. “Ridiculouslygood, right?”

“Sure, Duck.”

“Come on, what do you think?” she asks again, softer this time.

“The outfit and wig can stay, but the ’stache has to go.”

“Oh, come on!” She hands me the gift bag she’s holding. “Open it.” I pull out a baseball cap, aviator shades, a long blonde wig, another mustache, and a raspberry-red sweater. “I got you a disguise too,” she says with a triumphant grin as she leans on the hood of my car.

“No.”

She groans loudly, flapping her arms. “What is with this constantno? Is that your favorite word? Yes, Cameron. Come on, say it with me. We’re saying yes.” I stare at her blankly. “All right, we’ll try that again later. Now, throw on your costume. We’re on a schedule!”

“I’ve never had a woman boss me around this much,” I admit.

“Well, if we’re going to continue hanging out, you better get used to it.” Her lips curl into an irresistible pout. “In fact, you should be grateful for my guidance.”

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