Page 67 of Cold Feet
Cam laughed. "We were trolling around this little mangrove island, and this massive osprey swoops down about twenty feet from the boat, hits the water like a missile, and comes up with a fish nearly as big as him. Then…" his hands animated the story, eyes lighting up, "Frank hands me his binoculars and points to this tree, and there's a whole nest with babies. The osprey flew the fish home, and we watched the whole feeding frenzy. It was amazing."
My father actually preened a bit at his enthusiasm. "Been watching that same osprey family for three summers now," he said. "They always come back to the same spot."
"Like your dad was saying, they’re nature's greatest comeback story… they were almost wiped out fifty years ago and now they're thriving." Cam's respect for my father's knowledge was evident. "He knows this coastline like he designed it himself."
"You're a natural, though," my father replied, in what might have been the most complimentary tone I'd ever heard him use with anyone outside the family. "Good instincts. Patience. Most young guys today want instant results. You understood the waiting game. That's rare."
I watched this exchange with a sense of wonder. (And also a great deal of amusement at Dad's determination of the sub-par fishing chops of "young guys today.") My father, a man who had scared off more of my potential boyfriends than I could count with his gruff demeanor and impossibly high standards, was practically gushing over Cam. And Cam, for his part, was basking in my father's approval without seeming to try too hard for it.
They continued to unpack the gear, trading stories and good-natured ribbing. I helped, half-listening to their animated recounting of the day's catches while watching how naturally Cam had integrated himself into the Decker male dynamic. Even Zayne was relaxed around him, laughing at something Cam said about a seagull that had tried to steal their bait.
"You're staring," Drake murmured as he passed behind me, fishing rods in hand.
"I'm not," I protested automatically.
"You are. It's cute. He keeps looking for you too, when you're not watching." Drake's voice held no judgment, just quiet observation. "It's nice to see you happy, Lana. Real happy, not just youreverything is under controlface."
Drake could always see right through me.
Before I could respond, he'd moved on to help my father clean the fish, leaving me with his words echoing in my ears. Was I that transparent? And was Cam really looking for me when I wasn't watching?
As if on cue, Cam glanced over at me from where he was helping Zayne rinse some equipment. Our eyes met, and he smiled – not the practiced, camera-ready grin he used for public appearances, but something smaller, more private. A smile just for me. My heart thrummed in my chest and I was struck by a sudden and inexplicable desire to run towards him at full speed and just jump into his arms.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. Very very.
Cam stepped towards the patio, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt with casual grace. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head, revealing the sculpted perfection of his torso.Holy pectorals,Batman. Tanned skin stretched over defined muscle, the sharp cut of his abs, the broad planes of his chest. I nearly choked on my iced tea.
He tossed the shirt casually over his shoulder, completely oblivious to my sudden inability to form coherent thoughts. The midday sun caught the droplets of sweat along his collarbone, making his skin gleam like burnished gold. As he bent to lift the cooler, muscles rippling across his back, I forced myself to take a sip of my drink, suddenly parched in a way that had nothing to do with the blazing sun.
My gaze traced the lean lines of his waist, the trail of golden-brown hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts, and suddenly heat pooled low in my bikini bottoms. This was ridiculous. I'd seen hockey players shirtless a thousand times. Cam even more than that, since I kept booking him for magazine spreads where that was a major component. But something about Cam, the easy confidence in his movements, the playful smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, made my heart race like I was sixteen again.
Zayne chose that moment to sprint across the deck, snatching Cam's discarded shirt as he ran past. With a mischievous grin so unlike my usually serious brother, he dove into the pool, surfacing with a triumphant whoop.
"Come and get it, Murphy!" he taunted, waving the soggy shirt like a flag.
Cam's eyes narrowed playfully. "Oh, it's like that, Decker?" Without hesitation, he charged toward the pool and launched himself into a perfect dive that sent a wave of water cascading over the edge, drenching several nearby chairs and eliciting delighted screams from the kids.
For a moment, there was just churning water and bubbles. Then both men surfaced, wrestling and laughing like overgrown boys. Cam dunked Zayne under, emerging victorious with his soaked shirt held high above his head like the Stanley Cup.
"And the Hitman takes the championship!" he crowed, water streaming down his chest as he hauled himself out of the pool in one powerful movement. The kids cheered excitedly and rushed to give him high-fives.
I tried, and failed miserably, not to stare as he stood there, water beading on his perfectly defined chest and abs, shorts clinging to powerful thighs. Rivulets traced paths down his skin that my fingers itched to follow. His hair was slicked back, droplets clinging to his long lashes, and that mischevious grin made something molten and dangerous coil through me.
What would it be like to press my palms against that chest? To feel his heart hammer beneath my hands? To trace the defined muscles of his abdomen with my lips, tasting chlorine and salt and him? The thought sent a shiver through me, despite the heat.
I forced myself to look away, suddenly very interested in the pattern of my napkin. Because watching Cameron Murphy, dripping wet and half-naked, his eyes dancing with delight as he triumphantly wrung out his t-shirt, was the kryptonite to my willpower.
In that moment, with Cam sun-kissed and relaxed, fitting so seamlessly into my family that it seemed he'd always been there, I wanted nothing more in the world than for this to be real.
God, I was cooked.
After the fish were cleaned and prepped for dinner, the whole family migrated to the beach. Emma and Tyler immediately began clamoring for sandcastles. Being the pushover that I was when it came to my little cousins, I found myself drafted into a full-scale sandcastle competition.
"Teams of four!" Emma declared with the absolute, unshakable, authority of a six-year-old. "Me and Tyler and Auntie Lana and Uncle Cam against everyone else!"
I glanced at Cam, expecting him to politely find a way out of this. Instead, he was already crouched down, helping Tyler gather buckets and shovels from the beach toy stash.
"Sounds perfect," he said, high-fiving Emma. "We're definitely going to win."
