Page 47 of Cold Feet
"Lana? Cam? Are you awake?" My mother's voice filtered through the door. "Breakfast is ready, and Connie is arriving in an hour for the photos!"
I groaned, letting my head fall forward. "We're up, Mom! Be down in fifteen!"
"No rush!" she called back, though the tone of her voice definitely impliedrush. I could practically hear her vibrating with excitement through the door.
When her footsteps receded, I looked up to find Cam watching me with amusement dancing in his eyes. "Family photo day," he said. "Your favorite."
"How did you know it was my favorite?" I asked dryly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
"Because you've been radiating dread since your mom mentioned it last night," he replied, sitting up and running a hand through his mussed hair. "Don't worry, I clean up nice for pictures."
"I'm not worried about how you'll look," I said truthfully. Cam Murphy photographed like a model. It was part of what made him such a marketing asset. I'd seen hundreds of photos of him across every type of media, and not once,not once, had he ever taken a bad picture. It was like, impossible. The camera loved his golden god bone structure almost as much as female hockey fans did. "No.I'mworried about my extended family interrogating you for the next two hours while we all pretend not to be sweating to death in coordinated outfits."
"You underestimate my charm," he said confidently, stretching his arms overhead in a way that showcased the sculpted muscles of his shoulders. "I'll have them eating out of my hand."
"You've never met my Aunt Margaret," I warned, forcing myself not to stare. "She once made my cousin's boyfriend cry by asking about his five-year plan."
"I have a five-year plan," Cam said, standing and running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "Win more Cups, perfect my wrist shot, make you admit I'm the best fiancé in the league, fake or otherwise."
"That's not a plan. That's a wish list."
"Semantics." He headed for the bathroom, pausing at the door. "You want first shower?"
The mental image of Cam in the shower, water sluicing down his broad shoulders, soap bubbles trailing across his sculpted torso, down his…flashed through my mind. I shoved it away forcefully, cursing my overactive imagination.
"No, go ahead," I said quickly.
His eyes lingered on my face for a moment, as if he could read my thoughts. Then he grinned, slow and knowing. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll save you some hot water."
As the bathroom door closed behind him, I flopped back onto the bed with a groan. The sheets still held his warmth and the faint scent of his body. I inhaled deeply before I could stop myself, then immediately sat up, disgusted with my own weakness.
This was going to be a very long weekend.
By the time we made it downstairs, the house was already humming with activity. My mother was in full hostess mode, balancing coffee refills with outfit coordination duties, while my father maintained his usual position of strategic retreat: newspaper open at the kitchen table, pretending to be engrossed in sports scores rather than family chaos.
"There you are!" My mother brightened when she spotted us. "Coffee? Pancakes? Aunt Margaret and Uncle Pete just arrived, and Drake called to say he and Serena are about twenty minutes out."
"Coffee," I said. "Lots of it."
"Thank you. Same for me," Cam agreed. "And pancakes sound amazing, Mrs. Decker."
"Diana," my mother reminded him, sliding a mug of coffee into his hand. "Or mom. You'll be family soon."
"You look lovely and relaxed this morning," Cam said smoothly. "Must be all this salt air."
“Oh, stop it.” My mother actually blushed, swatting him with a dish towel. "Frank, aren't you going to say good morning to the lovebirds?"
My father lowered his newspaper just enough to peer at us over the top. "Morning, lovebirds" he grunted, eyes lingering on Cam's choice of a Slashers t-shirt and athletic shorts. Clearly not photo-ready attire. "Sleep well?"
"Like a rock," Cam replied, either missing or ignoring the subtle judgment in my father's tone. "Best sleep I've had in months."
I choked on my coffee, remembering his identical words upstairs. My mother beamed.
"That's wonderful," she said. "I always sleep better at the beach too. Oh, Cam, I laid out some options for you to wear for the photos. Nothing too formal, just a nice button-down that would complement Lana's dress. They're in the yellow guest room – Zayne can show you.”
I shot him a look that clearly said don't even try, resistance was futile. Even my dad had learned long ago that when Diana Decker decided on a color scheme for a family photo, you just smiled and nodded and found something in your closet that matched. For all his gruff dominance on the ice and in his coaching career, Frank Decker had never once won a battle against his wife's aesthetic vision.
"Of course," Cam said with a gracious nod. "I'm in your capable hands, Diana."
