Page 61 of Close Knit

That makes sense. “Must be tough giving up your home.”

“It’s okay.” His smile is soft, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “Hasn’t been all bad.”

I flush, thinking of the few glimpses I’ve gotten of the apartment across the hall from me. “Now I get why your currentplace looks like a serial killer’s hideout.” Seriously, it’s so bare. My fingers itch to add a splash of color. “No decoration, a lone couch, one sad chair.”

He chuckles, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Says the person who looks like they live in a bowl of Fruity Pebbles.”

“You could call me acerealaliver.” I snicker.

“You’re ridiculous. But really, I didn’t see the point in moving my stuff over if I’ll only be there until the end of the season.”

Obviously, I knew he wouldn’t be my neighbor forever, but the reality of his leaving makes my chest deflate. If we both move away, could we still be friends? I mean, who else will ask me to twirl in my outfits and laugh at my terrible puns?

“Meanwhile, I dragged my entire life across an ocean, knowing I’d only be here until next summer,” I say. “But I can’t imagine living without all my stuff.”

“You’re not planning on staying in London?”

He studies my face as if he’s learning how to knit in the round for the first time. There’s no point in talking aboutourfuture—because, let’s be real, there isn’t one. Just his and mine, separately.

“I’m taking it one month at a time. Originally, I thought I’d move back home after my Yes Year was over, but who knows? Maybe if my retreat goes well, I’ll stick around,” I offer. “You’ll have to show me your actual apartment sometime. I’m going to place my bets that everything in there is fifty shades of charcoal.”

His mouth quirks up in a smirk. “You’d be surprised. Though the hardest thing to give up were my heated floors and view of Hyde Park.”

“Heated floors? The best my apartment has to offer is a leaky faucet. Although I kind of like the ambient sound. Is that weird?”

“Not at all. Whenever I take a bath, I like to sit in the tub while it’s filling up. Reminds me of a waterfall.”

I blink at him. “Wait. Did you just admit to being a bath person? And here I thought you were all about cold showers and grit.”

He laughs, a warm sound that makes my heart flutter. “I contain multitudes.”

“Cameron, is that you?” A woman with hair like a shimmering silver waterfall rambles toward us, her eyes twinkling with recognition.

My heart skips a beat. Oh no, is this another crazed fan? I instinctively grab Cameron’s arm, ready to shield him. My pulse quickens, but then his face softens.

“Nice to see you, Rosie.” He doesn’t pull away from my grasp. “Daphne, this is Rosie. She owns this place.”

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, surprised. “I’m head over heels for your design. It feels like a little bit of me.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Rosie beams. “Thought you moved or something, Cam. Vanished without a word. I had a Don’t Kale My Vibe smoothie waiting for my favorite American every morning for a whole week before I gave up.”

The realization hits me—he brought me to his cafe, where he knows the owner and has a usual order. I glance at him, finding a softness that makes everything else fade. This is one of those moments where being a class-A lover girl is failing me miserably.

“I promise, it’s temporary,” he reassures Rosie as she moves behind the counter and taps the current worker on the shoulder to let them know she’s taking over.

Rosie looks between us with a knowing grin. “You two ready to order?”

“Uh—” I stammer, too stunned to speak.

“Give us a minute,” he says, and Rosie nods, whirring the espresso machine to life. “Got a burning question, Duck?”

“About a thousand.”

“I’d come here for a smoothie before driving to Overton for practice last season. Rosie hates football and cares very little about what I do. Her place doesn’t attract a big football crowd.”

“That about covers it. Except…what exactly does one put in aDon’t Kale My Vibe smoothie?”

“Lots of greens.”

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