Page 16 of Cold Feet
"Yes. Trust me," he interrupted, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table for the check. Two drinks. Nice tip. "This is my area of expertise. Hockey players practically invented the strategic social media presence."
"That's not even close to…" I muttered, but I gathered my things and followed him anyway, wondering how I'd gone from meticulous planning to impromptu photo shoots in the span of a single margarita.
Outside Coconut Charlie's, the midday sun was warm but not yet oppressive, the breeze off the Gulf carrying that distinctive salt-and-sunscreen scent that defined St. Petersburg. Cam led the way along Beach Drive, his stride casual but purposeful.
"First stop, the murals at the Shore Club," he explained, navigating us toward the upscale hotel known for its vibrant wall art. "Casual, colorful backdrop. Public space but not screaming 'look at us.'"
We arrived at a wall covered in a funky beach scene – vibrant blues and greens depicting the Gulf's marine life. It was beautiful and distinctly local, the kind of spot that said "Florida" without resorting to plastic flamingoes and neon kitsch.
"Perfect," Cam murmured, positioning us in front of a section featuring rays and tropical fish. "Now, stand next to me, but not too posed.Like we just stopped to admire the art."
I adjusted my position, feeling strangely self-conscious. In my professional life, I was constantly arranging players for photo ops, coaching them on posture and expression. Being on the other side of the camera felt foreign, especially with Cam standing so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Relax," he said softly, picking up on my tension. "Just pretend this is real."
He slipped an arm around my shoulders – casual, easy, like he'd done it a hundred times before. The weight of it was warm, solid, and strangely comforting. The scent of his cologne – something woodsy and expensive – enveloped me.
"Look up at me," he directed, his voice low. "Like I just said something that caught you off guard."
I tilted my face toward his, all ready to manufacture a surprised expression, when he whispered, "Did you know otters hold hands while they sleep so they don't drift apart?"
The random fact was so unexpected, so charmingly odd, that I laughed – a genuine, unplanned burst of amusement that crinkled my eyes and softened my features. In that exact moment, Cam clicked the selfie.
When he showed me the result, I was startled by how... natural we looked. His arm draped comfortably around me, his face turned down toward mine with a warm smile, me laughing up at him with unguarded delight. We looked like a couple – not just any couple, but one comfortable in each other's space, happy in each other's company.
"That's..." I searched for a professional assessment and came up empty.
"Perfect," Cam finished for me, swiping through filter options. "Natural. Exactly what we need."
He was right. It was the kind of photo that didn't need a caption, that told its own story. I watched as he made minimal adjustments and saved it, not posting yet.
"One down," he said, leading me away from the mural. "Next stop: Sweet Caroline's."
I raised an eyebrow. "My cupcake place?"
"Isn’t itourcupcake place? We established it's part of our couple lore," he reminded me. "Plus, I'm actually hungry."
The walk to the bakery took us past outdoor cafés and boutiques filled with beachy merchandise. Occasionally someone would do a double-take at Cam – a hint of recognition that he acknowledged with a friendly nod but no stopping. Just a local athlete out with his...girlfriend. The thought sent a strange flutter through my stomach.
It was a weird situation. Of course I was feeling weird. I mean, it would be weirdnot to, right?
Sweet Caroline's was tucked into a converted bungalow, with mismatched vintage furniture and the heavenly scent of butter and vanilla permeating the air. Bree was behind the counter, and her face brightened when she recognized me.
"Lana! Your usual?"
"Please," I confirmed, then hesitated. "Actually, make it one to share. And an iced coffee."
Cam's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, but he didn't comment. Bree nodded, already reaching for the lavender vanilla cupcake with its signature mountain of pale purple frosting.
"And a coffee for me too, please," Cam added. "Black."
We settled at a small table by the window, the cupcake between us. Cam studied it with exaggerated suspicion.
He smelled it first and eyed the lavender frosting."Does it taste like soap?"
"It tastes like heaven," I corrected, breaking off a piece. "Try it before you judge."
He accepted the bite, his expression skeptical until the flavor registered. His eyes widened slightly.
