Page 49 of Cold Feet
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. Trust Nana to jump straight to "physical attraction" within minutes of meeting my supposed fiancé.
“Nana, you’re killing me here.”
"But most interesting," she continued, oblivious to my embarrassment, "is this Pluto aspect. Transformative connection. Not just any romance… a life-changing bond." She looked up, her eyes unexpectedly serious. "Most people search lifetimes for the kind of alignment you two have. The stars don't lie, my dears."
Something shifted in the air between us: a weight, a possibility, a question none of us had voiced.
Cam cleared his throat. "Well, that explains a lot," he said lightly, though I noticed his hand had sought mine, fingers intertwining as if seeking an anchor. "I've always felt drawn to Lana."
Nana nodded approvingly. "As it should be. Now, when are you planning the wedding? We'll need to choose an auspicious date."
"We haven't set a date yet," I said quickly. "Still enjoying the present moment."
"Well, don't wait too long," Nana advised. "Next summer has some excellent celestial alignments for marriage. June especially. Venus will be in Cancer, perfect for home and family foundations."
I felt rather than saw Cam's eyes on me, a tangible weight that made my skin prickle with awareness. "We'll keep that in mind," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap around me like a soft blanket.
"Come find me later," Nana told Cam. "I'll do a more detailed reading for you both. The universe has so much to say about your journey together!"
As we made our escape back to the kitchen, Cam leaned close. "I like her," he murmured. "She's very sure about us."
"She's sure about everyone's cosmic destiny," I whispered back. "Last year she told Drake he should move to Tibet and study with the monks."
"Still," Cam's eyes held mine, something playful but also searching in their depths. "Venus aligned with Mars. That explains a lot, doesn't it?"
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the flutter in my chest. "Don't tell me you actually believe in that stuff."
He shrugged, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I believe there are forces in the universe we don't fully understand. Like why I can't seem to stop thinking about you, even when I should."
My heart flip-flopped wildly at what he'd said, but before I could formulate a response to that bombshell, my mother called from inside, "Lana! Cam! Time to get ready for photos!"
"Saved by the bell," I muttered, grateful for the interruption. "Go find your cosmic blue shirt. I need to get changed."
Hislow laugh followed me up the stairs.
The family photoshoot was every bit as chaotic as usual. My entire extended family descended on the beach house like a hurricane, filling every corner with noise and motion and opinions – lots and lots of opinions.
Aunt Margaret immediately cornered Cam, champagne flute already in hand despite my mother's eleven o'clock rule, and began a rapid-fire interrogation about his "intentions." Uncle Pete argued with my father about the best spot on the beach for the photos, even though neither one of them would ultimately have a say. My cousin Nora's three kids, all under the age of eight, rampaged through the house like the tornadoes that aways accompany hurricanes, while her husband Ben trailed behind them with an exhausted and apologetic expression.
Meanwhile, Drake and Serena arrived in a cloud of noticeable sexual tension that made me both happy for them and yearn for a genuine connection of my own. They couldn't seem to stop touching: his hand on her back, her fingers brushing his arm, casual contact that spoke volumes about their reconnection. I caught Drake looking at her with such naked adoration while she chatted with my mom that I almost didn't recognize my usually reserved brother.
Through it all, Cam remained remarkably composed. He fielded Aunt Margaret's increasingly personal questions with grace ("Yes, I see children in the future. No, not before the wedding. Yes, I've met her parents; we're standing in their house right now."), won over Uncle Pete by asking about his fishing boat, and, most impressively, managed to corral Nora's children into a game that somehow left them clean, largely stationary, and completely entranced.
"How are you doing this?" I whispered as I watched him demonstrate a complicated hand-clapping game to six-year-old Emma, who gazed at him with undisguised adoration. "They're usually climbing the walls by now."
Cam shrugged, not missing a beat in the clapping sequence. "Kids are easy. They just want someone to pay attention to them."
There was something in his tone, a hint of hard-earned wisdom, that made me tilt my head and study him closer. "You're good with them."
"I coach youth hockey in the off-season," he said, high-fiving Emma as she successfully completed the pattern. "Kids this age are my specialty. Old enough to follow instructions, young enough to still think I'm cool."
I blinked, genuinely surprised. "You coach? I didn't know that. Although to be fair, I also didn’t know that you were cool." Teasingly, I elbowed him in the ribs.
"Har har. Mini-Mites, four to eight-year-olds," he said, his attention still on Emma as she attempted a more complicated pattern. "Two years now at the community rink in St. Pete."
"But that's a volunteer program," I said slowly, trying to reconcile this information with the Cam Murphy image I'd helped create. "I've been scheduling your charity appearances for three years. Why didn't this ever come up?"
He glanced up, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Lana."
