Page 82 of Cold Feet
She laughed. "No. But I did spend the better part of a season fighting my feelings for a certain hockey captain because I was convinced it would be a disaster. Sound familiar?"
I sighed, slumping back in my chair. "Maybe. A little."
"Tell me something," Coco said, her voice softening. "What was it like with your family?"
The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, how did it feel to see him interacting with your parents, your brothers... seeing him in your childhood home, or swimming with your nieces and nephews?"
Images flashed through my mind: Cam laughing with my father over fishing stories, helping my mother carry groceries from the car, getting soaked in an impromptu pool wrestling match with Zayne, his patient hands executing Emma's creative vision as we built a sandcastle tower. The warm glow in my chest at seeing him fit so seamlessly into my world, as if he'd always belonged there.
"It felt..." I swallowed hard, surprised by the emotion welling in my throat. "It felt right. Like he'd always been there."
Coco nodded, as if I'd confirmed something she already knew. "And what about the ring? The first time you put it on, what did you think?"
I glanced down at the sapphire. "I thought it was beautiful. Too beautiful for a PR stunt, honestly. I figured it was a loaner from his agent."
"Did you ask?"
"No," I admitted. "I didn't want to know."
"Because if it was real, that would mean something," she replied. "Or if it wasn't real, that would mean something too."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"This isn't fake anymore. You know that, right?" Coco's direct statement hit like a punch to the gut.
"I can't..." I shook my head. "There's so much riding on this. The Redline deal is worth millions to Cam and would be huge for the team. My professional reputation. My relationship with Zayne. My family's expectations now that they think we're engaged." I gestured helplessly. "It's all too complicated."
"Maybe what's really at stake isn't your job or the deal," Coco suggested. "Maybe what's at stake is your heart, and that's what's really scaring you."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. Was she right? Was I hiding behind professional concerns to avoid confronting my real fears?
"Here's a scary question," Coco said, leaning forward. "What happens after the deal is signed? When the PR stunt has served its purpose? Have you two even talked about that?"
We hadn't, not really. The plan had been vague – maintain the appearance of a relationship for a respectable period, then stage an amicable, private breakup. Simple in theory, but the thought now made my chest ache.
"Sort of," I admitted. "We've been more... living in the moment."
"Most fake relationships have a clear end date," Coco observed. "At least, according to all my favorite Priscilla Oliveras romances. Yours seems to be getting more entangled, not less."
Before I could formulate a response, a commotion from below indicated practice was wrapping up. I glanced out the window to see the players exiting the ice, Cam among them. As if sensing my gaze, he looked up toward my office, our eyes meeting across the distance. Even from here, I could see his smile, a private one meant just for me. My heart performed a completely unprofessional somersault in my chest.
Coco, who had turned to follow my gaze, let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, that's what I thought." She stood, gathering her bag. "Look, I'm not saying it's simple. But from someone who nearly talked herself out of the best thing that ever happened to her – don't let fear of the unknown stop you from exploring something real."
"It's not that simple," I protested weakly.
"It never is," she agreed. With a small wave, she slipped out the door, leaving me alone with thoughts I'd been trying very hard to avoid.
I sat in silence for several long minutes, turning over Coco's words in my mind.This isn't fake anymore. You know that, right?The simple statement had cracked open something I'd been desperately trying to keep contained.
My phone buzzed with a text message.
CAM: Dinner tonight? Need to strategize about tomorrow's practice media availability.
I stared at the message, reading between the lines. "Strategize." Right. We both knew that was just an excuse to spend more time together. A professional pretext that would allow us to maintain the fiction that this was still just about work.
Part of me – the rational, professional part – knew I should suggest a quick call instead. Set firmer boundaries. Keep things strictly business.
