Page 43 of Cold Feet
"Thank you, sir – Frank," he corrected himself. "That means a lot, coming from you."
My father waved away the gratitude with characteristic gruffness. "Just stating facts. You could be stronger off the puck, though. You could definitely hustle more on the back check."
"Dad," I began with a warning look, but Cam was already nodding.
"You're right," he agreed readily. "Rocco's been chirping me about it all season."
My father's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd clearly expected pushback, not immediate acceptance. "Good. Too many young players these days get defensive about criticism."
"No point in that," Cam said with a shrug. "You don't improve by ignoring your weaknesses."
Something that might have been respect flickered across my father's face. "Well said."
My mother, sensing an opportunity to steer the conversation away from hockey, jumped in. "Speaking of improvement, Cam, did Lana tell you about the family photo session tomorrow? We're doing it right on the beach at sunset."
"Family photo session?" I repeated, instantly suspicious. “No, I did not tell him because this is the first I’m hearing of it.”
"Just a casual thing," my mother assured me. "Auntie Margaret's friend Connie is the photographer, and she's doing it as a favor. Nothing fancy, just some nice shots of everyone together while we're allhere."
"And by 'everyone,' you mean..."
"The whole family," she confirmed brightly. "Your aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone! It's been a year since we've had everyone in one place for photos."
I groaned internally. The last Decker family photo session had devolved into chaos when Uncle Pete had too many beers and decided to go for a spontaneous swim – fully clothed – halfway through the shoot.
"That sounds great," Cam said, because of course he did. Mr. Perfect Fiancé, never missing an opportunity to score points with my mother. What surprised me was how genuinely happy he looked at the prospect.
"Wonderful!" she beamed. "I've laid out some options for coordinating outfits in the guest bedroom. Nothing too matchy-matchy, just complementary colors. Blues and whites, mostly."
I shot Cam a pointed look. This was his fault for mentioning blue as our wedding color.
"Of course," my mother continued, "I thought Lana might wear this lovely sundress with the blue flowers… it's hanging in your closet, honey. And Cam, if you have anything in a similar shade, that would be perfect."
"I think I packed something that might work," Cam replied, the picture of cooperation. "I love blue on Lana."
"Excellent!" My mother clapped her hands together. "And while we're on the subject of photography, I was wondering if you two had given any thought to engagement photos? My friend Marjorie's daughter just had the most beautiful shots taken at the Selby Botanical Gardens, or there's always Bayfront Park– "
"Diana." My father's voice, while gentle, carried an unmistakable note of warning. "They haven't even finished their dessert."
"You're right, you're right," she conceded, though I could tell it was killing her to drop the subject. "Plenty of time for all that. More pie, anyone?"
As conversation shifted to safer topics, I felt Cam's hand find mine under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture was small but anchoring, reminding me that at least I wasn't facing this charade alone.
By the time we'd finished dinner and helped clear the dishes, over my mother's pride and protests, the day's travel and emotional rollercoaster had finally caught up with me. A wave of exhaustion hit so suddenly that I had to stifle a yawn behind my hand.
"I think we should call it a night," Cam said, noticing immediately. "It's been a long day."
"Ofcourse, of course," my mother agreed. "You must be tired from the drive. And the inquisition." She winked at Cam conspiratorially. "We'll see you in the morning – breakfast is at eight-thirty, but don't feel like you have to be punctual."
The knowing smile that accompanied this statement made me want to sink through the floor again. I managed a quick goodnight to everyone before escaping upstairs, Cam following close behind.
Back in my transformed bedroom – which looked even more romantic with the setting sun casting a golden glow through the gauzy curtains – I let out a long, slow breath.
"Well, we survived dinner," I said, kicking off my sandals.
"Your dad likes me." Cam sounded genuinely pleased as he leaned against the dresser, arms crossed.
"He tolerates you," I corrected, though secretly I had been surprised by my father's relative warmth. "But yes, you did okay."
