Epilogue
Daphne
Six Months Later
Today is moving day!
Since I moved back to London in May, after Lyndhurst won the championship, Cameron and I have flourished like wildflowers on Miracle-Gro. We decided to stay in London because it’s the city where we fell in love, our circle of friends is here, and his contract with Lyndhurst got renewed. It feels like we never took time apart. We tried to keep our separate apartments at the Lion’s Lodge, but it was pointless—he never seemed to leave my bed, except on weekends when he was off blocking goals at away matches or when I was traveling through the UK for my knitting retreats, hitting a new town every month with my yarn and needles!
I steal a glance at the driver’s seat, where Cameron’s grinning like he just pulled off a last-second save in a World Cup final. We’re pulling into the parking lot of his—scratch that— our apartment, and he’s rocking the navy sweater I gave him this morning for his birthday. Nestled in my lap is a surprise birthday cake, and he’s completely clueless. He thinks I popped into Petal he’s going to therapy, actively engaging with his friends, and giving back at the foundation. Charlie Lewis was permanently barred from the Premier League after the investigation, and Cameron’s old coach, Mateo Rossi, was pressured into retiring. Despite wishing more justice would’ve been served, I’m so glad that he’s never going to coach another team ever again.
So is Cameron.
His smiles are real now, practically permanent, and I’m obsessed.
“I have to say, you look ridiculously handsome in that color,” I remark, placing my hand on his thigh and leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Is it bringing out my cool winter tones?” he retorts with a sarcastic grin, cupping the back of my head and pulling me in for a real kiss. No matter how many times we find ourselves in this exact situation, I always crave more.
Last week, for our Monday date night, I decided to spice things up and take us to get our color palettes analyzed. Picture this: Cameron, all banged up from his match over the weekend, sitting in a chic studio surrounded by swatches of every conceivable hue. The stylist, Stella—an eccentric woman in oversized glasses—draped different colored fabrics over his shoulders, declaring with utmost seriousness, These cool tones will make your big brown eyes pop! He just grunted and nodded along. I couldn’t stop laughing.
We still keep our weekly date night tradition alive, a relic from my Yes Year that’s now our Yes Life. Maybe one day we’ll exhaust our list of new activities, but until then, I fully intend to savor every cozy night we spend together. My favorite is ordering takeout from a new restaurant and watching a movie that will undoubtedly make Cameron cry. So far, the tearjerkers include Coco , Marley other shows want exclusive Wooly Duck projects and celebrities want to use my patterns for fundraising—I’ve invested back into my business. This includes hiring a personal assistant to manage comments, plan retreats, and book guest speakers to discuss the importance of mental health.
After Lust Island ended, Georgia and I had an inbox full of collaboration requests. I nearly fainted when we got asked to work on a new book-to-movie adaptation for Secrets, Sex, and Sunflowers by Lily Rodin, coming out early next year. I’m also running monthly knitting retreats at Petal & Plate, training people worldwide to host their own retreats, and have been a guest speaker on anxiety relief hobbies in Lisbon, Athens, and Oslo.
Talk about leveling up!
“What do you think?” I say, leaning back and unbuckling my seatbelt with a dramatic flourish. “By the end of the year, I’ll be rocking a fuchsia sweater. It’s totally on your color palette.”
He rolls his eyes, smirking. “I’ll wear one if you’re the one taking it off.”
I laugh. “Can I get that in writing?” I ask as he steps out of the car.
I hop out too, the crisp autumn breeze sending a delightful shiver down my spine.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me hire movers,” Cameron grumbles, yanking my suitcase from his car’s trunk, which is so tiny it barely fits a single item.
“Are you serious? You saw how pumped the guys were about helping us move.” Sven and Omar practically fell over themselves to get a sneak peek of Cameron’s apartment. They’ll be here soon with the moving truck—Omar borrowed one from his family, and, miraculously, it fit all my stuff. But I’m still stashing some things at my place at the Lion’s Lodge for our Wednesday night reality TV marathons.
“If anyone gets hurt, Coach will have our heads, especially since we’re on a winning streak,” Cameron says, though his tone is more amused than worried. He wheels my suitcase toward the elevator, and I trot along after him.
“Then you better pitch in, birthday boy.” I give his shoulder a playful nudge, and he grins as he hits the button for the penthouse suite.
“Before everyone gets here, I have a surprise for you,” he says.
“But it’s your birthday!” I tilt my head, one eyebrow raised.
“And my favorite thing to do is spoil you,” he replies with a grin.
I laugh. “Well, who am I to deny you what you want on your birthday?” I give him a cheeky smile.
We stroll through our apartment. The sun is out, but the clouds are doing their best to stage a coup. He stops at the door of his second bedroom, which he’s been using as a gym.
“Go on,” he says, motioning me forward.
Curious, I push open the door and step into…an entirely different room. Custom-made cabinets line the walls, a cozy window nook looks out over the sprawling London skyline, and the walls are a soft, dreamy purple.
There’s my tripod facing a clean wall with fairy lights dangling down it. Baskets for my yarn. A giant corkboard with sparkling pins in it.
I turn to him, wide-eyed. “When did you have time to do all this?”
“I know a guy,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe like he didn’t just orchestrate an HGTV-level transformation overnight. “Do you like it?”
My heart thuds against my rib cage. “You made a whole room for me? But where are you going to work out? Your biceps have their own zip code!”
He chuckles. “I think they’ll survive. I’ve been liking working out at Lyndhurst Stadium with the guys. Besides, I thought you’d get more use out of it. I left space for your boucle chair, and your pink couch can go here. Now you can use this room to work on meetings and collaborations and to film all your YouTube videos.”
I blink. Cameron giving me a whole room is like a unicorn offering free rides—it’s magical and a bit unbelievable. This is next-level.
I wrap my hands around his waist. “I love it. Are you sure it’s not too much estrogen too fast?”
“Duck, how many times do I have to tell you that this is our home? I love your stuff.”
“Even the sparkly pink things?”
“Especially those.”
My cheeks flush. “Well, I wish the couch was already here so I could thank you properly.”
“Hello, we are here!” Sven’s voice booms from the living room.
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Guess that’ll have to wait. Time to get this party started!”
“Party?” Cameron tilts his head, a puzzled puppy dog look on his face.
“Yes, party! Moving heavy furniture is the new rave, didn’t you know?” I wink at him before darting out to greet Sven. “All right, muscle man, let’s get this show on the road!”
“Hey, guys!”
“Thank goodness, no narrow stairwells this time.” Omar chuckles, lugging my pink couch with Sven right behind him. The rest of the crew is juggling my boxes and the big surprise that Cameron insists he won’t like, but I know he will. They start to filter in with balloons in tow and grins plastered on their faces.
“Happy birthday!” they shout in unison.
Cameron gives me a side-eye. “What did I—”
“It’s not a birthday party!” I insist.
His grumpy, gorgeous face doesn’t buy it for a second.
“It’s a housewarming party,” Tamu explains with a mischievous wink, signaling the guys to help.
“We’re right behind you!” Bea announces as she strides into the apartment, Ivan and the offensive team trailing behind her.
“I thought you said you were going to keep it small,” Cameron mutters, his grumpy demeanor only slightly softened by the sight of so many people.
“What can I say? There are a lot of people who want to celebrate you—I mean, us moving in together! Duh!” I chirp, my sunny disposition trying to melt his perpetual frown.
“Hi, Bea!” I squeal, skipping away from Cameron to hug her. After Ivan retired at the end of last season, they’ve both been knee-deep in organizing the first-ever Birds of a Feather auction, aimed at supporting young athletes in sports leagues. The plan is to have professionals talk to the kids about mental health, helping them understand that their worth isn’t tied to their performance in sports.
More people pour in, and soon the table is laden with presents. Cameron’s laughing, surrounded by his teammates, who’ve surprised him with a full-sized Mortal Kombat II arcade game. But my real surprise is just around the corner.
“Brother!” Dante calls out, stepping into our not-quite-lived-in-yet apartment.
Cameron’s head whips around so fast, I half expect him to pull a muscle. I practically bounce on my tiptoes, beaming like I just won the lottery.
“You invited my siblings?” Cameron’s tough-guy fa?ade cracks as he pulls Dante into a hug.
“Sure did!” I chirp, my smile bright enough to power a small city.
“Brooklyn and Alec should be right behind me,” Dante adds, patting Cameron on the back.
Seizing the brief opportunity, I dash to the kitchen. There it is: the gluten-free, no-sugar, no-frosting cake Rosie made. On top is a fruit-carved goose kicking a soccer ball. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect.
Cameron catches sight of me.
“Happy birthday, Goose,” I say. The room starts to sing, and Cameron’s grumpiness melts, replaced by a smile that could rival the sun.
I remember lying in bed on my twenty-sixth birthday, at the start of my Yes Year, dreaming about all the ways my life could change. Volunteering more, maybe skydiving, making a friend or two, even finding a boyfriend. Fast forward a year and a half, and here I am, moving in with my first and only love.