37. Cameron

Chapter 37

Cameron

February 4

Lyndhurst FC Soars to Top 5 Amid Recent Winning Streak—Is This the Turnaround They’ve Been Waiting For?

February 6

Are the Dating Rumors True? Cameron Hastings Spotted at Helsinki-Vantaa Airport With Influencer Daphne Quinn

After practice on Friday, I picked up Daphne, and we headed to the airport for our flight to Finland. With the family jet unavailable, we settled for first class. Daphne ordered every snack and knitted the whole flight, while I struggled to stay awake, exhausted from the week’s workouts.

The cold hit us hard when we landed. Daphne, in her yellow puffer coat, brown boots, and pink beanie, looked adorably radiant against the snow. Her excitement was contagious as we made our way to the town car I hired.

I can’t help but feel excited to share another Yes Year adventure with her.

“You know, you sort of look like a duck right now,” I say, trying to keep my grin in check.

“Juni said the same thing when I bought this puffer for our family trip to Alaska a few years ago. But you’re one to talk.” She squeezes my hand tighter in the back seat of the car and laughs, a sound that always manages to thaw the icy parts of me.

“Hey, my girl made these.” I run my gloved hand over my scarf and beanie, both painstakingly knitted by Daphne.

“ My girl .” She scrunches her nose, smiling. “I still can’t believe you convinced the yarn store to stay open for us. I feel kind of bad.” Her gaze shifts to the outside, taking in the snowy landscape as it whizzes by. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, fighting off the creeping motion sickness.

I wanted to keep what I’d planned a surprise, but she hates surprises, so I ended up sending her an itinerary for the weekend.

“It’s only an hour, and they were happy to help.” I shrug, not mentioning that I had to shell out five-thousand euros to the shop owner to make it worth their while. Who knew knitting was so expensive?

“I can’t wait. It’s so cool here. I’m excited to see all the snow during the day.” She leans her cheek against the window, eyes wide with wonder.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up to Villainen Mets?, a sprawling shop nestled in downtown Helsinki.

The lights are dim as we walk in, with wooden shelves packed with colorful yarns, sorted by color and type. Large tables in the center hold knitting needles, baskets of yarn, and other supplies. A small fire crackles in the background, with oversized chairs.

“ Tervetuloa .” An older gentleman greets us with a nod.

“ Hei ,” I mutter, trying to sound appreciative. “My name is Cameron Hastings; I believe we spoke earlier.”

“Ah yes!”

“Thanks for staying open.”

“ Kiitos ,” Daphne chimes in, her smile radiant. We’ve tried to learn a few Finnish words this week, mostly during quiet moments when she braids her hair before bed.

The gentleman nods again. “ Ei kest? .” He retreats behind the register, picks up an almost-finished cardigan, and resumes his knitting.

“Maybe that will be you someday,” Daphne says, nudging me in the ribs as I grab a wooden basket. She wanders around the store, her eyes wide with excitement.

I scoff. “That looks like it involves purling, so not likely.” My knitting progress has been embarrassingly slow. Untangling her yarn is about the extent of my skills right now.

“By the end of this year, you’ll be making sweaters. Mark my words.” She trails her fingers over the yarn, her voice full of conviction.

I roll my eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “We’ll see about that. I’d be happy if I could manage a potholder that looks more like a square and less like a parallelogram,” I say, moving toward a shelf lined with vibrant yarns.

“A parallelo-what?” Daphne laughs, spinning around to face me. “You aced math, didn’t you?”

“Had to keep my grades up to stay on the team. Finn helped tutor me; he’s been friends with Alec since I was born,” I reply, picking up a skein of blue yarn, savoring its softness.

“Juni tutored me in everything,” she says, picking up some red yarn and rubbing it on the back of her hand. “She’s brilliant.”

“Knitting involves a lot of counting,” I mention.

“Counting and geometry are worlds apart,” she counters. “Feel how soft this is.” She rubs the yarn over my hand before tossing the ball into the basket. Her fingers brush against mine, and I can’t ignore the jolt of electricity that zips through me.

“And here I thought you liked challenging things.” I wink, and she scrunches her nose. My phone pings. I silence it. “That’s my alarm. We’ve got about thirty minutes before we need to get back to the town car and catch the train.”

She laughs. “You’re such an airport dad.” I’m not entirely sure what that means, but if it makes her happy, I’ll wear the title. She said the same thing when my alarm went off for our boarding time, and the way her eyes lit up was worth any confusion on my part. “All right, that’s plenty of time. Now that we’re here, I wish I’d left more space in my suitcase,” she says, handing me six more skeins of the red yarn.

“I left some room in mine for you,” I offer, trailing her around the store.

“Surprised it’s not filled with your hair products.” She shrugs and resumes her browsing.

“I don’t have that many hair products,” I grumble.

“Four containers at my place! That’s a lot of pomade. And I still don’t get it—you put it on and then you get all sweaty anyway.”

“It works better with sweat,” I say, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Keep telling yourself that.” She reaches up and threads her fingers through my hair, messing it up. I grunt but can’t help the smile tugging at my mouth as she laughs, turning back to the yarn and handing each ball to me. “Whoa,” she says suddenly, pausing. “I just got déjà vu. Or maybe it’s just my brain remembering our last trip to Morrisons. You holding the grocery basket, letting me throw things in.”

Our Sunday night ritual—stocking up for the week. I used to get my groceries delivered, but she loves the store, loves picking out new snacks, even though my list never changes.

“It’s because I like walking behind you,” I murmur, squeezing her butt. She playfully slaps my chest, her eyes sparkling.

“That reminds me, can you make that butternut squash soup this week? And get the sourdough from the shop around the corner? That was so good.”

I’ve been trying to figure out dinners that both Daphne and I will enjoy; squashes have been a hit.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “Only if you promise to taste it…off my fingers.”

“Taste soup? Off of your fingers?” She snorts.

“Sounded sexier in my head.”

A blush creeps up her neck. “I’ll try anything once.”

She adds a few more yarn balls to the basket as we plan our meals for the week. I can’t take my eyes off her. Her movements, deliberate and graceful, stir something deep inside me. The way she carefully selects each ball of yarn, her fingers lingering on the soft textures, mesmerizes me.

She suddenly stops, counting the balls in the basket. “Wait…it’s like I blacked out for a second. I can’t possibly buy all this yarn. I don’t need them! Even though they’re so pretty.”

“They’re on me.”

“Seriously?”

“This weekend’s my treat.”

“Thanks, Goose.” Her smile widens.

“You’re welcome. How much can each yarn ball cost, a hundred bucks?”

“Fifty?” She laughs. “The priciest one here is probably thirty euros, and that’s for local wool.”

I definitely got played by the shop owner when arranging this private shopping trip. “Go wild. I can ask them to ship a box back, if you want.”

When the basket is overflowing, we head to the checkout. I spent more on yarn than I did on those damn vanilla candles, but her smile makes it worth every penny. Seeing her happiness as she moves around the store, knowing I can provide for her, makes my heart race.

As we leave, I pull her close, my voice low and rough. “You know, seeing you like this does things to me.”

She looks up, her eyes sparkling. “Oh? What kind of things?”

I lean in closer. “The kind that makes me want to keep you smiling, any way I can.”

Winter makes the days short and the nights endless in Finland. The overnight train we took arrived in Lapland early this morning, and today was our only full day here before we head home tomorrow. The sun barely made an appearance before disappearing again. During twilight, we strapped on our snowshoes and ventured into the forest. Daphne’s nose and cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink, catching our guide’s eye and securing us an intimate meet and greet with the sled dogs.

By afternoon, we were lounging in the spa, soaking in the hot spring baths. We dared each other to plunge into the icy lake. She jumped in first, her squeal echoing off the frigid water. I couldn’t back down, not with her eyes on me.

Dinner was a five-course Finnish feast. Daphne ordered every dessert: Runeberg torte, pulla, and lingonberry pie. We lingered over strong black tea, determined to catch the northern lights. Last night on the train, the sky was too cloudy and I was far too motion sick to look out the window.

Now we’re back in our igloo room, trying to kill time. The glass ceiling arches overhead, offering a clear view of the sky. But nothing’s going as planned.

“Cameron, you’re down fifteen, and it’s the last sixty seconds of the game. It’s not happening,” Daphne says, her body laid back on the white hotel bedding.

It’s 2:00 a.m. and there are no northern lights, and now I can’t get her off. I roll my shoulders back, wiping the sweat off my brow. Come on, Cameron.

What am I doing wrong?

“Let’s try something else then,” I suggest. I’ve touched, licked, kissed, bit, pulled, and fucked her pretty cunt, but I can’t manage to get her to finish. This is outside my realm of experience.

Daphne giggles, tucking her hand between the space of my jaw and her thigh and pulling my gaze up to hers. I pull myself out of the heaven between her thighs and sit up. Is she no longer comfortable with me? We’ve been fooling around for the last half hour. Everything started as usual—hot and heavy and fucking perfect. But I immediately noticed something was off with Daphne.

“What you’re doing feels great, but it’s my anxiety meds, and we had a long day,” she assures me, wrapping her fingers in mine. “Fluoxetine sometimes just shuts off my libido. A stupid side effect.”

I frown. There has to be something I can do to make her feel good. To take care of her the way she does for me. “I typically have enough tools in my toolbox.”

“This isn’t about your tool or your toolbox, which we both know have never failed me before. This just happens. Even when I’m alone.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

“I’ll do my best.” She sits up on the bed and hesitates for a few moments, seemingly turning over the words in her head. “It’s like every part of my mental and emotional state wants you to shred me to pieces.” She laughs awkwardly. “I’m in the most romantic place in the world with the most gorgeous man—and you’re wearing that mouthwatering hoop earring—but it’s out of our hands.”

I hear her, I really do, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve lost when I’m meant to be her winner.

“Stupid side effects.”

“Tell me about it.” She playfully rolls her eyes.

I am so glad we’re here. Neither of us has seen the northern lights, and it felt like the perfect thing to add to her Yes Year experiences list. However, now my big romantic gesture is feeling like a failure. Well, more accurately, I am.

“All right.” I resign, put on my boxer briefs, and help Daphne get dressed, covering her forehead in kisses. The last thing I want to do is admit to her how insufficient I’m feeling right now. It’s like I’ve let her down in some crucial way. I want to make her feel good, not just physically, but emotionally. I want her to know she’s cherished, desired, and seen. “Is there anything I can do for you? To make you feel good right now?”

“We’re literally in an igloo in Finland. The snow is falling, and there are miles of stars in the sky. All I really want is to feel close to you.”

I kiss her hand. “I do too, sweet girl.” I want to be the man who makes her feel appreciated. “How about we cuddle and watch a movie?” I offer.

“Absolutely,” she says. There’s a small twinkle in her eyes of something more. “And maybe you can give me a massage?”

“You’d like that?”

“Um, yes.” She giggles. “I still want to be touched by you. You know, without the pressure of it needing to end somewhere.”

“Sounds perfect to me. Get comfortable. I’ll throw on a movie and grab some lotion.”

“Now that’s five-star service.”

I grab the remote, flicking through the channels. “On a scale of Up to Past Lives, what level of tears are we thinking?”

“That may be the sexiest question you’ve ever asked me.”

I chuckle. “Fuck yeah, crying movies.”

“All right, now I know you’re flirting with me.” Daphne playfully tosses a pillow my way. I catch it and set it on the bed.

“I’m always flirting with you.”

Her cheeks blush. “Then turn on Before Sunrise and put those hands to work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I rent the movie, walk over to the bathroom sink, and pick up the vanilla-scented cream she uses, the one that always drives me wild.

My heart pounds when I return and see her lying on her stomach, waiting for me. Her cheek is pressed to her palms, and she gives me a smile. The starlight from our panoramic windows dances across her beautiful body.

I’m so lucky. I take a deep breath, feeling the heat of anticipation course through my veins.

I approach her slowly, the scent of vanilla filling my senses as I squeeze the lotion into my hands and rub my palms together to warm it. The sound of the movie hums in the background. She tugs up her shirt, revealing her bare back. My fingers tremble as they make contact, the smoothness of her skin sending a jolt of electricity through me.

She lets out a soft sigh. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Relax and let me take care of you.”

A small spark ignites in my chest.

I begin at her shoulders, my hands firm yet gentle as they work the tension from her muscles. She melts under my touch, her body softening with every motion. My fingers trace the lines of her spine, moving with purpose and care, as if I’m doing my pregame ritual.

“You’re so beautiful, Daphne,” I whisper. “This gorgeous hair, long legs, your beautiful body…every part of you is perfect.”

She grins, a twinkle in her eye. “I like hearing that. It makes me feel good.”

“Does it now?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She tilts her head ever so slightly, her eyes locking onto mine. “Yes, Mr. Grunts-instead-of-using-his-words.”

A laugh escapes my lips as I give her a playful pat on the butt. “I guess I save my words for you.”

“And I cherish every single one.”

Her reaction gives me a hesitant boost of confidence to open up. If there was ever a right moment to tell her how Daphne makes my heart race, it’s now. My hands move across her skin, tentative yet deliberate. “I want to take care of every part of you,” I murmur. “I like showing you just how much you mean to me.” She exhales, pressing into my touch. “When I kiss you, it’s like I’m somewhere else. Feeling you under my lips, tasting the faint salt of your sweat. It…it makes me feel alive.”

“As alive as when you’re glaring at everyone from the goalpost?”

“Better,” I respond without hesitation, surprising even myself. My hand moves slowly down to her lower back, tracing the curve of her hips as I continue the massage. I press a gentle kiss to her shoulder, my voice softening. “I can’t get enough of these legs,” I admit, my lips brushing against her ear. “The first time I saw you in that long, colorful sweater, you knocked the wind out of me.”

“I wasn’t just a sweater with legs, was I?” she teases.

“You were so much more,” I reply, grinning. “Especially with all those seams you showed me.”

She laughs a sound that makes my heart do a little flip. “We definitely didn’t admire my mattress stitch on that rainbow sweater nearly enough.”

I smirk, my tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Shame on us. Guess we’ll have to admire what’s on the mattress now.”

In the background, Before Sunrise plays softly, the TV casts a warm, golden glow around our cozy little haven. The atmosphere is just right, and I let myself relax, savoring the moment.

“You’re getting all mushy on me now.”

“Don’t get used to it. This is a one-time deal,” I grumble, but the smile on my face gives me away.

“Oh, sure.” She laughs, playfully rolling her eyes. “I believe that.”

I try to ignore the warm feeling spreading in my chest. “You’re right, I like spoiling you too much.”

“You really do.”

“You are my sunshine, Daphne,” I say, my voice gruff but sincere. I move down her legs, onto her thighs and calves. I pause, taking a moment to admire her. This feels right. “You are precious to me,” I murmur, massaging her feet as she giggles. I kiss each toe, earning more laughter. “From the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. Every part of you is special to me.”

“You went into the wrong career with football when your hands can be put to such good use,” she jokes as I finish the massage and gently pull her pajama shirt down, smoothing out the wrinkles on her shorts. “Honestly, if you keep this up, I might just marry you.”

“Promises, promises,” I mutter, putting socks on her feet, making sure she’s comfortable and warm.

We cuddle up in bed, her head resting on my chest. I turn up the movie, and we lie there, enjoying each other’s company.

After the movie ends, she sniffles. “It gets me every time.”

I chuckle, wiping a stray tear off my cheek. “Me too.”

She grins, snuggling closer. Her eyes drag up to mine before they float up to the panoramic windows above us. “Oh my god, they’re here.” She points upward. I follow her gaze and see the aurora borealis, ribbons of neon greens and pinks undulating across the night sky.

But honestly, the real show is Daphne. I watch her watching it, her pupils wide with wonder. This is my favorite view—her face lit up by the celestial light show.

“What?” she asks me, catching my gaze with a smile.

“Nothing. Just you,” I say, wrapping my arm around her. “Come here.”

We lie back, moving under the blankets, and she rests her head on my chest. Her lavender hair cascades over both of us, and I can’t help but think how perfect this moment is.

Our future has become so vivid in my mind—waking up next to Daphne, her knitting projects littering the bedside table. She spends her mornings creating patterns, planning retreats, or designing a wardrobe. I’ve won the Premier League and am training for the World Cup.

Our weekends are a blur of laughter and love.

Down the road, I’m coaching our kids’ football games. Daphne is on the sidelines, needles clicking, knitting tiny scarves and hats to keep them warm. Maybe we’ll get a dog, though deep down we’re both cat people. Maybe one of each.

My nerves fizzle because I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay as it is. This fragile, beautiful thing we’ve built—it scares me how much I need it.

How much I need her, and how much I want to prove to her I deserve her.