Page 63 of Close Knit

“Won’t you have to retire at some point?”

A beat of disappointment flickers across his face. “Eventually. But I try not to think about that. Most players retire between thirty-four and thirty-six, but some keepers play longer. The goalkeepers who avoid injuries can continue playing into their late thirties or early forties. Ivan Matos was the starting goalie at Lyndhurst before I joined this season. He’s in his forties.”

“That still seems so early. What do they all do after?”

“Become coaches, managers, or scouts to develop new talent. Others move into sports broadcasting or become pundits. Some start businesses, get involved in charity, or start new careers outside of football.”

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do?”

“No. Football has been my life since I could walk,” he admits. “For those ninety minutes on the field, I become the most powerful version of myself.”

“Did you ever play another position?”

His fingers skim my side of the table, nearly grazing my elbow. “Never. Being a keeper is indescribable.”

“Try to describe it.”

“Most football fans write off the position. But without a good goalie, you can’t win trophies. When I’m in my box, it feels like destiny. It’s about having the courage to make the right call and trusting my gut. Plus, I hate hearing the ball hitting the net. That fuckingshwooo.” He imitates the sound. “Stopping that sound is a compulsion.”

“Wow.” I exhale, trying to ignore the rapid beat of my heart. “I know it’s not the same, but when I’m knitting, I also feel a compulsion. Like I can’t rest until the project is done.”

“Sounds a lot safer than a ball flying at you at eighty miles an hour.”

I chuckle. “That kind of intensity must be exhausting.”

“At times. The real stress comes from contracts, club politics, managing all the relationships…” He breathes out heavily. “My future isn’t guaranteed. There’s a chance that I might not be with Lyndhurst next year, or anywhere in the Premier League. It’s hard not to think about that.”

There are so many layers to Cameron, layers I hadn’t even begun to peel back. And he’s letting me in so easily. It feels monumental, like when I finally finished knitting the Posey Lace Sweater after months of work.

“When are things like that decided?”

“May.”

Relief settles over my shoulders. “That’s ages away. Maybe you can just focus on the here and now?” I suggest.

He looks like he wants to say no yet again, but he settles for, “Not bad advice.”

The cafe hums around us, couples chatting, a woman sketching, someone smiling into their mug of tea. We’ve been lingering, talking about nothing, for who knows how long. A cozy bubble of calm. Cameron’s vibe seems to have improved becauseof his kale smoothie. My mountain of pastries has a similar effect on me.

“Should we head out? Wouldn’t want a waiter telling us they’re about to close the place up like last time,” Cameron asks reluctantly.

“Yeah, I need to get ready for my livestream anyway,” I reply, packing all the extra pastries into a box, feeling content but not quite ready to leave. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint my biggest fan, Mr. ch1kl100,” I tease. Cameron grimaces and lets out a quiet grunt. This one doesn’t set my nerves on edge. I’m certain this particular grunt comes right from his gooey center. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s really lovely; it reminds me of my cozy childhood treehouse.”

“Then why don’t you host your retreat here?” he suggests as we descend the stairs.

“You wouldn’t mind if I invaded your personal haven?” I ask, trying to hide my excitement.

“I’ll send you Rosie’s email. I’m sure she’ll be able to give you a good deal on the rental.”

This could be my big break! If Rosie can give me a sweet deal, I could pull off this retreat with just a smidgen of my income and a sprinkle of my savings.

“I’d like that so much,” I say, practically bouncing into the air and missing a step.

He chuckles, but a serious look crosses his handsome face. “And Daphne?”

“Yeah?” I swallow.

“Have a good night, lovebirds! Don’t be strangers!” Rosie calls from behind the counter, breaking the moment.

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