Page 21 of Cold Feet
Camwas... different. Not the arrogant playboy of his public persona, nor even the focused professional I'd worked with for years. This Cam laughed more easily. Listened more intently. Asked questions about my day and actually waited for the answer.
Yesterday, he'd appeared at my office door with a lavender vanilla cupcake "just because." The day before, he'd texted me a photo of socks covered in tiny monkeys wearing bow ties with the caption:Too much for the awards dinner?
Small moments. Inconsequential acts. Except they weren't part of our agreement, weren't performed for any audience. They were just... us.
He was pushing me way past my comfort zone.
I unpacked my toiletries, arranging them meticulously on the marble counter of the expansive bathroom. Organization had always been my defense against chaos, and right now, my life felt decidedly chaotic.
The NHL awards added an extra layer of pressure to an already stressful situation. Half the hockey world was already in town, including my brother, who was nominated for the Norris Trophy.
Zayne had been uncharacteristically quiet about the whole situation, though the stony silences whenever Cam entered the room told me he wasn't exactly thrilled.
My phone rang – a FaceTime call from Monica, the stylist I used for televised events. I propped it against the mirror as her face appeared on screen.
"Show me the dress again," she demanded without preamble, her New York accent more pronounced when she was in professional mode.
I held up the midnight blue gown with its subtle beading and elegant silhouette.
"Perfect," she nodded approvingly. "Hair up, minimal jewelry. Let the dress do the talking."
"Agreed," I said, returning the gown to its hanger. "I was thinking just diamond studs and – "
"And whatever ring your hockey boy gives you," she finished with a knowing smile. "Which I'm still waiting to hear about, by the way."
"There's no ring, Monica,” forcing a casuallaugh.
She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Really? Because the entire internet seems to think otherwise. Hashtag hockey-wife-material is trending, and your hot-as-sin forward has been spotted at Tiffany's."
My heart skipped. "He what?"
"TMZ caught him there this morning. It's all over socials today." She peered at me through the screen. "Wait, you didn't know? I thought you two were..." She made a vague gesture with her hands.
"I was on the plane, so my assistant is monitoring socials today," I managed, the practiced line rolling off my tongue. "It's complicated with my position on the team."
"Oh shit, sorry. She probably didn’t want to ruin the surprise for you. And honey,nothingabout the way that man looks at you is complicated," Monica replied with a knowing smirk. "That's the look of a man who knowsexactlywhat he wants."
We hung up a few minutes later and I sank onto the edge of the king-sized bed, suddenly exhausted. The lie was growing, taking on a life of its own, evolving into something more complex, more entangled with my actual life than I'd anticipated.
My phone buzzed again.
CAM: Dinner in your room or mine? Unless you'd prefer the restaurant downstairs with a hundred phones pointed at us.
I smiled despite myself:
ME: Room service. My suite at 8?
His response came immediately:
CAM: See you then, CupcakeQueen.
I'd barely had time to shower and change into loungewear – sleek gray shorts with a drawstring and a matching top – when a knock sounded at my door. Glancing at the clock, I frowned. 7:43. Early, even for Cam, who was always the first guy to show up for practice. Even before Logan.
Through the peephole, I saw him shifting his weight from foot to foot, one hand thrust deep in his pocket. His usual confident posture was replaced by something more hesitant, almost nervous.
I opened the door, prepared with a quip about his punctuality, but the words died in my throat when I saw his expression. There was an intensity in his eyes I'd rarely seen off the ice, a tightness around his mouth that spoke of carefully contained emotion.
"Can I come in?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.
