Page 62 of Cold Feet
"Since always," Cam replied, looking equally surprised by my surprise. "I wear a different pair for every game. It's my one rebellion against the dress code." He winked at me playfully.
"So, you're like the James Dean of knitted footwear," I laughed. "I had no idea you were such a bad boy."
Something flashed in his eyes before he shrugged. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Decker."
There was that phrase again, the same one he'd used yesterday during the photoshoot. It bothered me more than it should have, the reminder of how superficial my knowledge of him might actually be, despite the years of working together.
"All my socks have stories," he continued, the excitement in his voice nearly matching Tyler's as he showed off his mismatched feet. "These dinosaur ones were from a kid at Children's Hospital. The tacos I found at a gas station in Winnipeg when we were stuck there during a blizzard."
Something about the care with which he preserved these tiny mementos made my chest tighten. It wasn't just the silliness of them; it was the history, the sentimentality behind each pair.
"Uncle Cam has the best socks!" Tyler announced to the room at large, apparently having appointed himself Cam's newest fan. "He has sixty pairs!"
"Uncle Cam?" I mouthed at Cam, who had the grace to look slightly abashed.
"It just kind of...happened last night," he whispered. "I didn't want to correct them."
"Uncle Cam," my aunt Margaret echoed, sipping her coffee with a knowing smile. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
I felt heat creep up my neck and turned back to the stove, focusing intently on the griddle. "Who wants the first batch of pancakes?"
"Me!" chorused the kids.
"I hope you two slept well," my aunt continued, ignoring my obvious attempt to change the subject. "That mattress in Lana's room can be a bit… cozy."
"We slept fine, thank you," I said quickly.
"More than fine," Cam added with a wink that made my aunt chortle delightedly. "Though we did stay up pretty late talking."
"Talking," my aunt repeated skeptically. "Is that what they call it these days?"
"Aunt Margaret," I hissed, glancing meaningfully at the children.
"Oh, they're not paying attention," she waved dismissively. "They're completely obsessed with Cam's socks. Smart strategy, by the way," she added to Cam. "Children are excellent judges of character. Win them over, and you've won half the battle."
"No strategy," Cam said. "I just like kids. And weird socks."
There was something so genuine in his tone that I paused in my pancake pouring to look at him. He'd crouched down again to let Emma examine his dinosaur sock more closely, his expression warm and open. Cam had always been good with the junior fans at team events, but this was different – more natural, less performative. I'd assumed his ease with children yesterday had been part of our charade, but watching him now, I realized it was simplyhim.
"Come on, shortstop," he said to Emma, scooping her up and settling her on a kitchen stool. "You can be my official taste tester."
"What about me?" Tyler asked.
"You can be assistant chef. Here," Cam grabbed a whisk and handed it to Tyler. "Stir this while your aunt Lana pours."
The kitchen quickly filled with more family members; Zayne and Drake stumbling in looking for coffee, my parents returning from their walk, Nana taking her usual place at the head of the table. Before long, we had an assembly line going with me manning the griddle, Cam and Tyler mixing more batter, and Emma solemnly reporting on the quality of each pancake batch.
"Ididn't know NHL superstars could burn toast," Zayne commented dryly as Cam scraped a blackened piece into the trash.
"I have many talents," Cam replied airily. "Toast isn't one of them. Or eggs. Or bacon. I'm more of a dessert guy."
"That's why he needs me," I said without thinking, then froze when I realized how couple-y it sounded. "I mean – for the bacon. Obviously."
Cam caught my eye over Zayne's shoulder and smiled, a small, private thing that made my stomach flip. "Obviously," he agreed. "I'd be lost without you."
The simple statement, delivered with such quiet sincerity, sent an unexpected warmth blooming through my chest. It was part of the act, I reminded myself firmly. All for show. Which at this rate, I needed to remind myself every twelve seconds.
My father, who had been quietly observing from the corner with his coffee, finally spoke up. "So, Cam, are you ready for our fishing trip today? Tide's best around noon."
