Page 70 of Cold Feet
He settled next to me, close enough that I could feel his warmth but not quite touching. For a while, we sat in surprisingly comfortable silence, watching the sky slowly transform from blue to a palette of pinks and golds. The fading sunlight caught in his hair, turning the golden-brown strands into a halo of fire. It highlighted the strong line of his jaw, the fan of lashes against his cheek when he briefly closed his eyes to feel the sea breeze.
"Your family is so easy to be with," he said finally, opening his eyes to gaze at the horizon. "Today was..." He paused, seeming to search for the right word. "Special."
"They like you," I said, drawing patterns in the sand with my finger. "Especially my dad. I've never seen him warm up to someone thoroughly."
"I like them too." His voice was soft, reflective. "It's easy to see where you get your strength. Your humor. Thatanything for the teamloyalty."
I glanced at him, finding his gaze already on me, tender and intent in a way that made my heart stutter.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Depends on what it is."
"Why haven't you ever settled down? For real, I mean." His question was gentle but direct. "You're smart, beautiful, successful... you could have anyone you wanted. Youcan."
The question caught me off guard. It wasn't something I discussed often, even with close friends. But there was something about this moment – the fading light, the sound of waves, the strange intimacy we'd been cultivating to pull off this ruse – that made honesty feel safe.
"I guess it's been a very long time since I met someone who seemed worth the risk," I said slowly. "Someone who made me feel like I could be completely myself, without performing or pretending. Someone who saw me – not just Frank Decker's daughter, or Zayne& Drake's sister, or the team publicist, or potential hockey royalty trophy bride. Plus, I work about a million hours a week, so unless I decided to marry somebody who works at the arena, I'd never see them except on alternate Tuesdays from 3 - 3:15."
"I can make that happen," Cam teased lightly. I happen to know a guy who works at the arena who'd be perfect for you..."
"Is it Marv, the Zamboni guy?" I retorted, "Because I'm pretty sure he's already married."
"It's not Marv..." he said under his breath.
I paused, gathering my thoughts. "And after what happened in college..."
"With me," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the sand between us.
I nodded, unable to look at him. "With you. It made me doubt my own judgment. Made me wonder if I could really trust what I felt, or if I was just... projecting what Iwantedto see."
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes on the horizon where the sun was now a half-circle of fiery orange. "I'm sorry. I never meant for..." He paused. "I understand that better than you might think."
"You do?"
He nodded, running his hands through his hair in a gesture I'd come to recognize as a sign he was deeply uncomfortable but trying to be honest.
"Remember yesterday when I said I learned to be whoever I needed to be to fit in. New step-parent? Figure out what they want and become that version of myself. New school? Watch the popular kids and mimic them until I belonged. It became second nature." He picked up a handful of sand, letting it sift through his fingers. "Even with women. I'd figure out what they wanted – the charming player, the strong silent type, the ambitious go-getter – and I'd become that. For a night, for a week, however long it lasted."
"And that worked for you?" I asked softly.
He shrugged, his eyes still on the sand trickling through his fingers. "It was easier than being rejected for who I really was. But after a while... it gets lonely, being someone else all the time."
"Is that what you're doing now?" I asked gingerly, attempting to glean more information without him feeling like I was judging him.
I watched his profile, struck by the vulnerability in his expression. This wasn't the confident NHL star or even the charming houseguest who'd won over my family. This was Cam stripped down to his essence: uncertain, honest, real.
"No," he murmured. "That night in college," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "with you... that was different. I didn't feel like I was performing. I was just me. And you. It was just instantly, effortlessly easy to be together." He finally looked at me, his eyes reflecting the gold of the setting sun. "It scared the hell out of me."
My breath caught in my throat at his admission. "Why?"
"Because it meant something. It was real. And in my experience, things that feel real at the beginning were usually just performative until the inevitable blowout and stepparent replacement." He set the remaining sand down, brushing his palm clean against his shorts. "When you're used to keeping people at a distance, real connection feels like... I don't know, like suddenly playing without pads or a helmet. Exposed. Vulnerable. Scary as hell."
The picture he painted hit mesooooclose to home – the professional in me always analyzing, always planning, always armored against personal attachment. Maybe that was what was making our fake fiancée performancefeelso real now. “I can relate,” I responded quietly.
"I didn't know how to handle it back then," he continued. "I didn't know how to be that vulnerable with someone and survive. Now I wonder if I've been playing it safe ever since. Hockey's so much more straightforward than this." He gestured vaguely between us. "On the ice, I know exactly what I'm doing. Off the ice, with you. I feel like a rookie, like,all the time."
His honesty disarmed me completely. "Cam – "
