Page 60 of Cold Feet
"Hey Mom," I called back, aching to hear what Cam had been about to say. He quickly pulled on a t-shirt, and I yelled through the door, "Yeah, we're decent."
"Up and at 'em, lovebirds! You're on breakfast duty!"
Cam's arm loosened around me, and I took the opportunity to sit up, putting some much-needed distance between us. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. Part amusement, part frustration, part something deeper and more dangerous.
"Another day of our magical fake engagement," he whispered lightly, though his eyes remained serious, searching mine. "Ready for it?"
I nodded, barely trusting my voice, but definitely not trusting my morning breath. After our midnight conversation, after waking up in his arms for the second morning in a row, with his confession about that night ten years ago still echoing in my mind, I was less sure than ever about what was real and what was pretend.
Other than the fear that this would all go terribly, terribly wrong. That feltveryreal.
Chapter 11
Igroaned, pulling the pillow over my head. "Mom, it's vacation. Why are we up at the crack of dawn?"
"It's hardly dawn, sweetie. And everyone will be hungry after their morning walks. I've already got coffee brewing."
Beside me, Cam was already sitting up, looking frustratingly alert for someone who'd been up half the night talking about feelings. "Morning, Diana," he said. "We'll be down in ten."
"Perfect! I've left out all the pancake ingredients. The kids have been asking for chocolate chip ones."
When the door closed behind her, I emerged from under my pillow cocoon. "How are you so chipper? We barely slept."
Cam stretched, revealing ab muscles I definitely wasn't staring at. "Hockey schedules. I can function on basically no sleep." He glanced at me and grinned. "Plus, thanks to my aforementioned childhood, I can pretty much sleep anywhere."
"That's what got us into this mess," I quipped.
"Haha, smartass. You, on the other hand, look like you've been hit by the Zamboni."
"Wow. Just the compliment every girl wants to hear first thing in the morning." I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Next you'll tell me my morning breath smells like a locker room."
"Actually, I was going to say your grumpy morning face is cute, but if you prefer the Zamboni comparison..."
I threw my pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "Let's just get this over with. Fair warning: I'm useless before coffee."
"Noted. I'll protect the general public from your pre-caffeinated wrath. Rise and shine."
Twenty minutes later, showered and marginally more alert, I made my way downstairs to find Cam already in the kitchen, casually wearing a hot pink apron emblazoned with KISS THE COOK over his t-shirt and shorts, signature funky socks on his feet. He studied the ingredients my mother had left out with the focused intensity I'd seen him use when watching game tapes.
"Looking pretty serious there, Murphy," I said, heading straight for the coffee maker.
"I'm just planning my approach," he replied, measuring flour with surprising precision. "Your mom mentioned she was hoping for blueberry pancakes, but I'm thinking we could do a mixed berry situation. Maybe add some lemon zest."
I paused mid-pour. "Since when are you a pancake connoisseur?"
"I may have binged an entire season of Crime Scene Kitchen last week." He shot me a grin over his shoulder. "Plus, pancakes are basically just a simplified version of cake, and I happen to be excellent with cake."
"Wait. You bake?" I asked, genuinely surprised. This was a side of Cam I'd never seen before.
"Don't sound so shocked," he said, cracking eggs into a bowl with practiced ease. "A man needs hobbies that don't involve getting checked into boards. Baking is... therapeutic."
I leaned against the counter, watching as he whisked the batter with confident strokes. "The Slashers' notorious enforcer finds solace in cupcakes?"
"Mostly cupcakes, yes," he admitted without a hint of embarrassment. "But I'm branching out. My cheesecake game is coming along nicely."
I sipped my coffee, oddly charmed by this revelation. "So what you're telling me is that beneath that NHL superstar exterior beats the flambéed heart of aGreat British Bake-Offcontestant?"
"Guilty as charged." He measured vanilla extract, adding it to the mix. "Though I'd appreciate it if you kept that information within these four walls. I have a reputation to maintain."
