Chapter 8
"Ithink we need a nice, romantic, social media-friendly beach walk today."
"If I didn't know better, Murphy, I'd think you were trying to get me alone."
I glanced over at Cam as he navigated the gentle curve of the Siesta Key bridge, his capable hands relaxed on the steering wheel.
The water below us sparkled in the afternoon sun, stretching out in a panorama of blues that matched his eyes perfectly.
We were almost to my parents' beach house, and the closer we got, the more my intestines twisted into knots.
"And if I were?" He shot me a quick look, voice dropping to that low rumble that did dangerous things to my pulse. "What would you do about it?"
The car's air conditioning couldn't quite compete with the heat creeping up my neck.
Through the open sunroof, the breeze carried the scent of salt and Cam – a combination that made my head swim more effectively than any mango margarita ever could.
For a moment, I forgot this was all pretend, that we were headed to my parents' beach house to engage in a charade for the benefit of my family and a sneaker deal.
I forced myself to look away, out at the shoreline coming into view. "I'd remind you of our very professional, very detailed agreement."
He laughed, warm and rich and far too knowing. His hand left the wheel to adjust the car's navigation system on the console, and for a fraction of a second, his fingers brushed against my bare knee. It was barely a touch, probably accidental, but it sent electricity racing up my thigh.
"My mom has already texted me three times about dinner seating arrangements," I said, desperate to change the subject.
I held up my phone as evidence. "The last message says 'Frank insists you sit next to him so he can get to know C better.
' She's abbreviated your name to save time.
That's how you know she's in full event-planning mode. "
Cam chuckled, the sound low and warm in the confines of the car. "It's cute that you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
He flicked a skeptical glance my way, one eyebrow raised in perfect challenge.
"Fine. I'm mildly concerned about the structural integrity of this ruse," I admitted. "My family is... a lot."
"I've met your family, Lana. Your dad's been giving me the eye from the owners' box for three years. And for four years before that, when Zayne and I played at BU."
"That's Work Dad. This is Beach House Dad. Completely different species."
The teasing glint in Cam's eyes softened into something more genuine.
"Hey." He reached across the console to squeeze my hand, his palm warm and unexpectedly reassuring against mine.
"We've got this. I'll charm your dad, compliment your mom's cooking, and remember all your cousins' names. What else?"
I swallowed, distracted by the casual intimacy of his touch. His thumb brushed a rhythm against my skin, and I wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.
"Um... don't mention the 1994 Rangers. Dad's still bitter about that Cup run. And definitely don't bring up Drake's knee injury. Mom still tears up."
"Got it. No '94 Rangers, no knee talk." His thumb continued its absent pattern across my knuckles. "What else?"
Something about his earnestness, the way he was actually trying to memorize my family's peculiarities, made my chest ache a little. This was meant to be performance, a business arrangement. So why did his hand feel so right on mine?
"My grandmother is obsessed with astrology," I continued, forcing my voice to remain steady. "If she asks for your birth time, just make something up. Otherwise she'll spend the entire weekend trying to determine our cosmic compatibility."
"August 12th, 2:17 AM," he replied without hesitation.
I blinked. "That was...specific."
He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "My mom was big on birth stories. It's one of the few things she remembers consistently."
Right. Cam said his mom’s MS had progressed significantly over the past few years.
"Well, prepare for Nana Decker to tell you exactly why an August Leo and a January Capricorn are either soul mates or mortal enemies. There's no in-between with her."
A grin spread across his face. "So which is it? Soul mates or enemies?"
The loaded question hung in the air between us. I was saved from answering by the GPS announcing our upcoming arrival, and seconds later, Cam was turning into the shell-paved driveway of my family's beach house.
The sprawling, weathered-blue structure sat nestled among palm trees and sea oats, its wraparound porch and multiple balconies offering views of the Gulf's turquoise waters just beyond the dunes.
It wasn't the largest or fanciest house on Siesta Key, but it had been the Decker family's sanctuary for three generations.
"Wow," Cam murmured, killing the engine. "This is... not what I expected."
"What were you expecting? A hockey rink in the backyard?"
"Kind of, yeah." His eyes roamed over the cheerful exterior with its white trim and blue shutters. "It's charming. Homey."
"It's seen better days," I admitted. "But we've never been able to bring ourselves to update beyond what's necessary. Too many memories."
"Does it have a name?" Cam asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Like 'Casa del Sol' or 'Paradise Point' or something? I love that beach houses always have names."
"Yeah," I grinned. "Her name is Stanley."
Before I could say more, the front door burst open, and my mother emerged, waving enthusiastically.
She was followed closely by my father, who maintained his characteristic reserve but couldn't hide the genuine smile beneath his silver-flecked beard.
Zayne lurked behind them, arms crossed, watching us with narrowed eyes.
"Brace yourself," I whispered to Cam as we exited the car. "Hurricane Diana incoming."
My mother descended upon us in a flurry of floral perfume and excited chatter, enveloping me in a hug before turning her attention to Cam.
To his credit, he handled her effusive welcome with easy charm, accepting her embrace and presenting her with the bouquet of sunflowers we'd picked up at a roadside stand along the way.
"My favorites!" My mother pressed a hand to her heart, genuinely touched. She shot me an approving glance. "He's a keeper, sweetheart."
Next came my father, whose handshake with Cam was firm but less intimidating than I'd feared. "Good to have you here, Murphy," he said, his expression inscrutable but not unwelcoming. "Hope you're ready for some familial bonding and competitive volleyball that's been known to end friendships."
"Wouldn't miss it, sir," Cam replied with exactly the right balance of respect and confidence. "Though I should warn you, I'm terrible at volleyball. Like, embarrassingly bad."
My father barked a laugh. "Perfect. You can be on Drake's team. Even the playing field a bit."
And just like that, the ice was broken.
As Zayne helped unload our luggage from the trunk, making a point of carrying mine while letting Cam handle his own, and I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders. Maybe this weekend wouldn't be the flaming ball of disaster I'd feared.
Then my mother linked her arm through mine and lowered her voice. "I've set you up in your old room, honey. I've been redecorating, and I think you'll find it much more... accommodating for two."
The significant look she gave me sent alarm bells ringing.
"Mom, you didn't have to… "
"Nonsense! It's not every day my only daughter brings home her fiancé. Now come along, I want to show you what I've done with the place."
As we followed my mother inside, I caught Zayne shooting Cam a warning glance that said more clearly than words: Remember our agreement. PG only.
The familiar scents of the beach house – salt air, sunscreen, and my mother's perpetual pot of seafood gumbo – washed over me as we stepped inside.
The main living area was my favorite room in the house: weathered hardwood floors, overstuffed furniture in shades of blue and white, and walls adorned with family photos and beachy art.
Through the large windows, I could see the afternoon sun casting golden light across the deck and the sugar-white sand beyond.
"Everyone else will be here tomorrow," my mother explained as she led us toward the staircase. "Drake and Serena are driving down from the Tampa airport, and the cousins won't arrive until Saturday morning."
"Wait, Drake and Serena?" I stopped, surprised. "They're coming together?"
My brother Drake had dated Serena Ruiz on and off throughout high school and college, but their relationship had ended definitively (or so I thought) when he was drafted by San Jose and she took a job in Miami.
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" My mother's attempt at innocence was painfully transparent. "They reconnected at Christmas. I always knew they'd find their way back to each other."
Her meaningful glance between Cam and me wasn't subtle. Great. Now she was mentally planning a double wedding.
"You've got that 'my mother is matchmaking again' look," Cam murmured close to my ear as we ascended the stairs.
"How could you possibly know that look?" I whispered back.
"I've been studying your expressions for three years," he replied, his breath warm against my skin. "I know all your looks."
Something fluttered in my chest at his words, a sensation I promptly squashed. This was exactly the kind of emotional quicksand I needed to avoid.
"And here we are!" My mother announced, throwing open a door at the end of the upstairs hallway with a flourish worthy of an HGTV host. "Your old room, though I think you'll find it's had quite the transformation."
Transformation was an understatement.