13. Daphne

Chapter 13

Daphne

“I’m in love,” I declare, taking in the high ceilings at Petal a few people are still ahead of us in line. I eye the pastries lit up in the display case. Half of them are sold out since it’s late afternoon, but the remaining ones glisten under the glass, practically begging to be devoured.

“My apartment is right across the street.”

I whip around, staring at him like he just told me he’s secretly a superhero. “You have a second apartment in Knightsbridge?”

He lifts a shoulder at me, a bit sheepish. “The Lodge is temporary. Coach insisted that it would help me bond with the team.”

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 current place 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 a cereal aliver.” 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 about our future—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 a Don’t Kale My Vibe smoothie?”

“Lots of greens.”

My nose scrunches. “Yuck. Like I said when we first met, you’re all about stems and sticks. I, on the other hand, am in the mood for something sweet.”

“Are you ever not?”

“You should try indulging sometime; it might make you less grumpy.” I laugh, but he just gives me that classic stare. Aw, my grumpy éclair is back. “All these pastries look amazing, I can’t choose! Almond croissants are my favorite, but those Danishes are calling my name.”

“Why not get both? Or get everything. Whatever you don’t eat, you can take home.” He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “To indulge yourself.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Are we still talking about pastries, or—”

“Enough,” he says in that tone that sends shivers down my spine. “Pick whatever you want, my treat.”

“You sure know how to spoil a girl.”

We order and find ourselves at a table on the top floor. Plates of pastries litter the table as Cameron sips on his green smoothie. Over the speakers, a soft jazz tune plays on the piano. The first night we met floats into my mind.

“This feels like our first date,” he says, watching me.

How is he always thinking what I’m thinking?

I’d trade the rest of these pastries to end this day like that one. My back against another window, the soft glow of Hyde Park’s city lights casting a romantic spotlight on us.

“So you admit it was a date?”

“I—”

“I’m just teasing.”

He smiles. “I didn’t tell you this earlier, but I like this sweater, especially the stars.”

Is my subconscious out here knitting star-shaped love letters while my brain is just trying to cry over a Netflix show?

“Thanks, yeah, trying something new.” I laugh. “Always gotta keep my patterns fresh.”

“Do you sell this one on your website?”

I nod. “I do! I uploaded it a few days ago.”

“How impressed I am with the fact that you make things with your hands—real, tangible things—is never going to wear off.” The butterflies in my belly return tenfold. I like it when he talks to me about my knitting. It makes me feel like he cares. I’ve been trying to do the same with his football stuff—I bought Soccer for Dummies at the bookstore. “Apart from knitting, do you do anything else with your hands?”

I touch you pretty well. The reminder of his firm body against my palms makes me choke on a sliver of almond.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease through a loud cough. His eyes darken just a tad. Stop flirting with the man, Daphne! Get a handle on yourself. “Okay, I’ll be serious. I can sew, but you already know that after I fixed your sweater.” I leave out the part where I pretended to need more time locating the correct shade of charcoal thread just so I could huff his sweater for a few more nights. And the fact that I embroidered a very small heart into the hem of it in secret. “I also crochet and embroider. I picked up a lot of textile skills in college. But knitting is repetitive. Like your practice drills, I guess.” His eyebrows raise. “What, a girl can’t study football in her free time?”

“My kind of girl.” He winks, and I’m certain my panties just combusted.

I need to change the topic fast, otherwise I’ll end up vaulting over these pastries and taking a big ol’ chomp out of his lip.

“You know, high school me would’ve laughed at the thought of hanging around a cafe with a big-time jock like you,” I say, grabbing a strawberry Danish to shove into my mouth because, let’s be real, it’s safer than devouring the man sitting in front of me.

“I would’ve been too focused on the balls flying at me to approach a pretty girl like you.”

Pretty girl. My cheeks burn.

Okay, clearly, my methods of distraction are terrible. Come on, Daphne. Talk about something unsexy. Think. Think!

“So, football…is that it for you? Your endgame?”

Cameron slings one of his muscular arms onto the table, his leather jacket pulling taut. “Yes.”

“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 fucking shwooo .” 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 because of 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.

“See you around, Rosie,” he says.

We laugh off her interruption, and the tension dissolves. But as we head out into the night, I sense that whatever Cameron was about to say, whatever comes next—I’m ready for it. More than ready.

[email protected]

Venue Booking Inquiry for a Knitting Retreat

Hi Rosie,

Hope you are well! It was so lovely meeting you yesterday with Cameron. I wanted to inquire about renting out Petal & Plate for a knitting retreat I’m hosting. The retreat is intended to bring awareness to mental health through the cozy act of knitting.

I’d love to book the venue for March 6th and 7th of next year. It will be the five-year anniversary of my knitting channel, @wooly.duck. I’m expecting about 50 guests, along with a few volunteers and speakers. Please let me know if you have an event brochure and if you’re able to answer a few of the questions below!

Could you provide information on the rental rates for a full-space buyout? The retreat will require breakout rooms for small group activities. Is there a specific catering menu? Do you have any AV equipment and Wi-Fi available?

Could you please outline the payment terms, including any deposit requirements and cancellation policies?

I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Knit Regards,

Daphne Quinn

@wooly.duck

[email protected]

Re: Venue Booking Inquiry for a Knitting Retreat

Hi Daphne,

Pleasure meeting you with Cam! Send him my love. He’s lucky to have someone looking out for him.

Would be delighted to host your event. Please find attached our rental brochure, which should answer all your questions. Feel free to stop by, or you can email me here if you need more information.

Best,

Rosie

Owner, Petal & Plate