Page 59 of Cold Feet
"Yeah," I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Big day tomorrow. Fishing and ghost stories."
"Can't wait," he murmured, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
Slowly, reluctantly, his hand slipped away from my face. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze before finally letting go, and I immediately missed the warmth of his touch. I rolled onto my other side, facing away from him, trying to process the conversation and what it meant.
Cam had wanted to stay that night. He'd seen me, really seen me,and whatever had made him leave, it apparently hadn't been a lack of interest or connection. The thought was both comforting and confusing, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Behind me, I felt Cam settle into his pillow, heard his breathing gradually deepen and slow. But sleep eluded me, my mind replaying our conversation on an endless loop as the nightstretched on. The weight of ten years of wondering, of hurt, of what-ifs felt both heavier and lighter now, transformed by his words but not erased.
It was hours later that I finally drifted off with Cam's words echoing in my mind.
"I wanted to stay more than anything."
After our midnight conversation, my mind refused to quiet down, replaying Cam's words over and over.
What did that even mean? Why had he said it now, ten years too late? And if itwasactually true,why didn't he?
I'd finally drifted off sometime after 3 AM,andawoke again to the sensation of warmth against my back and something heavy draped across my waist. For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, savoring the comfort of it. Then reality filtered in, and I realized that I was once again wrapped in Cam Murphy's arms.
Sometime during our brief sleep, we'd gravitated toward each other once again, and now we were spooning in the middle of the bed, my back pressed against his bare chest, his arm wrapped securely around me. His breath was warm against the back of my neck, steady with sleep. It was warmer than usual in the room, which explained why Cam’s t-shirt was balled up at the end of the bed.
Sunlight cast the room in a soft golden glow. Outside, I could hear the first chorus of birds greeting the day against the distant sound of the waves.
I should move. I should carefully extract myself and retreat to my side of the bed before he woke up and things got awkward again. That's what a professional would do, what someone maintaining appropriate boundaries would do.
Instead, I found myself lying perfectly still, allowing myself to absorb the feeling of being held by him. His arm was heavy and warm across my waist, his body solid and reassuring behind mine. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back was hypnotic, soothing. His leg was tangled with mine, his bare foot resting against my calf. It felt... right. Safe. Like coming home after a long journey.
And that was terrifying. Okay, comfy but terrifying.
Whatever this strange intimacy was that had developed between us, it couldn't, shouldn't, last beyond the next few weeks. This wasn't real; it was a temporary arrangement, a business deal with an expiration date.
But my treacherous body didn't seem to care about that distinction. It responded to Cam's proximity with a humming awareness that belied all my mental arguments.
Could it?
Behind me, Cam stirred as he drifted toward wakefulness. I felt the exact moment he became fully conscious. His body stiffened slightly, his breathing changed, and for a heartbeat I thought he would pull away.
He didn't.
"Morning," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep, vibrating against my shoulder blade.
"Morning," I replied, my own voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances.
Neither of us moved. The moment stretched between us, fraught with possibility and danger.
"Did you sleep okay?" he asked, his breath warm against the nape of my neck. He shifted his weight but still made no move to release me from his embrace. If anything, he seemed to settle in more comfortably, his fingers lazily tracing the edge of my camisole where it had ridden up, sending tiny tingles across my skin.
"I was awake for a while," I admitted, fighting to keep my voice even despite the havoc his touch was wreaking. "My mind wouldn't quiet down after… everything."
"Mine either," he said softly, his breath warm against my shoulder. "But it was worth it. Talking like that."
There was something different in his tone this morning; a quiet vulnerability that made my chest tighten. Yesterday had been playful, teasing. Today felt weighted with the revelations of our midnight conversation.
"Lana," he began, his voice serious in a way that made my pulse quicken. His hand splayed across my abdomen, warm and solid. "About last night… "
Before I could respond or he could continue, a knock sounded at the bedroom door, sharp and insistent.
"Lana? Cam?" My mother's voice filtered through the wood. "Rise and shine! Everybody decent?"
