Page 12 of Cold Feet
"The ring?" Coach Rocco echoed.
"An engagement requires a ring," I explained, clicking to a slide showing examples of tasteful but camera-worthy rings. "Something elegant but noticeable. Something that photographs well but doesn't scream 'publicity stunt.' We'll need it by the NHL awards at the latest."
"I'll take care of it," Cam said quietly, drawing everyone's attention.
"We should discuss specifications," I began, but he shook his head.
"I said I'llhandle it," he repeated, a strange intensity in his gaze. "Trust me."
Something about his tone made me hesitate. This wasn't the carefree, go-with-the-flow Cam I was used to managing in PR situations. This was... different. Deliberate.
"Alright," I conceded. "But nothing outlandish, please. It needs to be believable… "
"It will be," he assured me. Something in his slight smile made me terrified of what he was planning.
As the meeting wrapped up, I provided everyone with a printed timeline of key events leading up to the NHL Awards, including our first planned public appearance – a team charity event at the children's hospital next week.
Cam was watching me with that same unreadable expression, one finger tapping lightly on the table. The soft rhythm seemed to match my suddenly accelerated heartbeat.
"Any questions?" I asked, addressing the room but somehow looking only at him.
"Just one," Cam said, leaning forward slightly. "When do we start?"
The way he said it – low, with just a hint of eagerness – sent an unexpected shiver through my body.
"Immediately," I replied, proud of how steady my voice remained. "We have exactly two weeks until the NHL Awards. Every day counts."
As the meeting disbanded, Cam lingered near the door. Coach Sully gave me a brief nod that somehow managed to convey both approval and concern, while Rocco patted my shoulder as he passed.
"You're playing with fire, kiddo," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. "Just remember, in hockey and in life, sometimes the best plays are the ones you don't draw up on the whiteboard."
Before I could ask what he meant, he was gone, followed by Marcus and Ryan deep in conversation about negotiation tactics.
When everyone else had filed out, Cam approached, his movements casual but purposeful.
"So," he said, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. "What does 'immediately' look like, exactly?"
I glanced up from my tablet, finding him closer than I'd expected. Close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne – cedarwood and something citrusy – and could see the faint stubble already emerging along his jaw despite his morning shave.
"It means by the time you leave practice today, people should have a reason to wonder," I said, proud of how steady my voice remained. "A social media breadcrumb. A seen-together moment. Something subtle butnoticeable."
He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes.
"I have media availability after practice. Why don't you handle that one personally instead of sending an assistant?"
It was a reasonable suggestion. As PR Director, I often delegated routine media sessions to my staff, but occasionally supervised them myself, especially for high-profile players or sensitive topics.
"Good idea," I agreed, trying to ignore how my pulse quickened at the thought of standing close to him, playing this dangerous game in public. "That's subtle enough to not raise immediate questions but will get people looking. I'll be there."
"And after?" he asked, that slight smile returning, transforming his face from merely handsome to unfairly devastating.
"After what?"
"After media. Maybe we could grab coffee? Somewhere visible but not obvious. Start laying that groundwork."
My instinct was to refuse – to keep this strictly in the building, to minimize actual time spent together outside of necessary appearances. But he was right. We needed to start building a foundation. It was right there on my slide deck.
"Fine," I said with a small sigh. "But remember – subtle. We're easing people into this, not dropping a social media bomb."
