Page 15 of Cold Feet
"Well, what do you actually like?" Cam asked, leaning forward again. "Might be easier to stick close to the truth."
It was a sensible approach. "I like independent films, true crime documentaries. Hanging out at Siesta Key beach with my family when I actually have time off, which is basically never during hockey season. Reading actual physical books. Boating when I can convince my dad to let me take his prized fishing boat out." I shrugged. "Pretty basic stuff."
"Not basic. Real." Cam seemed to consider. "I watch a lot of baking shows to relax. Play guitar, badly. Love anything on the water – boating, surfing here, ice fishing back home in Minnesota, skiing, snowboarding." His eyes crinkled with a genuine smile. "Have an embarrassing collection of weird socks."
"I'm familiar," I laughed. His fans sent him crazy socks by the truckload.
He grinned and briefly lifted his pant leg to reveal today's choice: little tacos with cheerful cartoon faces. The ridiculousness of it – this professional athlete, this supposed bad boy, wearing whimsical socks – made me laughdespite myself.
"We need overlap," I said, steering us back on track. "Things we both genuinely enjoy that could be couple activities."
Cam thought for a moment. "BU hockey?"
"Go Terriers!" I yelled with unexpected enthusiasm and abarkfor emphasis that made him chuckle.
"Cupcakes," he said suddenly. "You're always bringing those fancy ones to office meetings."
"Sweet Caroline's," I confirmed, genuinely surprised he'd noticed. "They do the lavender vanilla ones I like."
"So that's something we share. You love cupcakes. I love when you bring cupcakes."
"That would imply we're actually together outside of work events," I pointed out.
"That's the whole premise, isn't it?" he countered, that half-smile returning. "That we've been seeing each other privately for months?"
"Right. Of course." I made another note. "Cupcakes, BU hockey, hanging at the beach... what else?"
"TV shows? Movies?"
I thought about my recent binges. "Schitt's Creek? It has the right balance of humor and heart. Believable couple viewing."
"Love it. David and Patrick are couple goals." At my surprised look, he added, "What? It's a good show. I'm not just muscles and slapshots, Decker."
I added it to my list, along with a few other details: favorite restaurants (we settled on a quiet Italian place near the arena and a sushi spot by the bay), weekend activities (beach walks, farmers markets), and how we communicate during away games when I'm not traveling with the team (nightly FaceTime calls, another detail Cam contributed with suspicious readiness).
"What about pet names?" I asked, working through my checklist.
Cam's eyes lit up with unholy glee. "Definitely."
"No." I held up a hand, fixing him with my best PR Director glare. "I mean, our position on them. Which is that we are absolutely not using pet names. If you call me 'babe' in public, I'm calling you 'Puck Daddy' for the rest of this arrangement."
Cam's grin widened. "I'm kinda into that, actually."
"You would be," I muttered, fighting a smile. "Let's move on. I've prepared a list of potential questions reporters might ask, so we should align our answers –"
"Lana," Cam interrupted gently. "I think we've got enough backstory for now. We're overthinking this."
"Overthinking is literally my job description," I reminded him, gesturing to my tablet full of notes.
"And you're excellent at it." His tone was teasing but kind. "But at some point, we need to stop planning and start selling this. People aren't going to believe spreadsheets and synchronized answers. They'll believe chemistry."
He was right, though I was reluctant to admit it. PR was about controlling the narrative, but romance – even a fake one – needed authenticity. Spontaneity. Which is a bit challenging to contain in neat bullet points
"Fine," I conceded. "What do you suggest?"
"Time for the world's most strategic selfie tour."
"Selfie tour?" I echoed. "Already? Don't we need time to rehearse or – Wait — is this why you asked me to bring three outfits for the beach?"
