Chapter 4
The next day was Saturday, but in PR, weekends are just another workday with better lighting.
I pulled into the parking lot of Coconut Charlie's – a beachside bar that somehow managed to be both a tourist trap and a local favorite.
With its weathered wooden deck, thatched roof, and unobstructed view of the Gulf's impossibly blue water, it was just secluded enough for our purposes without seeming suspicious.
I'd chosen this spot deliberately: public enough to be seen if we wanted to be, but casual enough that our meeting wouldn't seem staged.
Plus, if anyone recognized Cam, it could look like we were just grabbing lunch, not plotting an elaborate deception that could potentially derail both our careers.
Okay, fine. Even though I'd written this stupid plan myself I was super hesitant to pull the trigger.
I spotted Cam already seated at a corner table on the deck, sunglasses perched on his nose, baseball cap pulled low – his version of incognito.
Even with the disguise, he was unmistakable: broad shoulders, straight posture, that distinctive I just want to bite you Jensen Ackles-esque jawline that had graced so many of my marketing campaigns.
As I approached, he looked up and smiled, rising slightly from his seat in that old-school gentlemanly way he had. How he always stood when a woman entered the room, how he pulled out chairs, opened doors. Small, courteous habits that contradicted the bad-boy public image I'd helped create.
"You're early," I noted, slipping into the seat across from him and placing my oversized tote on the extra chair.
"Figured we should look eager for this date," he replied with a half-smile that did annoyingly pleasant things to his already unfair face. "Plus, I secured us an awesome table. Visible but not center ice."
I glanced around, noting his strategic choice – sheltered enough for a private conversation but with a clear line of sight from both the beach and the main bar area. The aroma of coconut rum and grilled mahi-mahi drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the salt air.
"Nicely done," I admitted. "Anyone recognize you yet?"
"Couple of autographs. The usual." He pushed a menu toward me. "I ordered us some drinks. Hope that's okay."
On cue, a server appeared with two glasses – what looked like a beer for Cam and a fruit-filled concoction for me that made me pause mid-reach.
"Mango margarita," Cam explained as I examined the drink. "That's the one you get at the after-game parties, right? Double sugar on the rim, no dorky umbrella?" He shrugged at my surprised expression. "What? I pay attention."
The realization that he remembered such a specific detail from some random night sent an unexpected warmth through me that had nothing to do with the Florida heat. I pushed the feeling aside and took a sip. It was perfect.
"We should get started," I said, pulling up my meticulously organized notes. "We need to establish our backstory. Something believable but not too complicated."
Cam nodded, leaning forward with surprising focus. "So how long have we been secretly madly in love?"
I rolled my eyes at his phrasing. "Eight months seems reasonable. Long enough to be serious, recent enough that keeping it quiet makes sense."
"Eight months," he repeated, nodding. "So we reconnected around February, maybe after the All-Star game? I remember you wore that blue dress at the reception."
I stared at him. I had worn a blue dress to that event – teal silk the color of the ocean with an asymmetrical neckline. The fact that he remembered made my heart take an extra beat that I immediately blamed on the frozen margarita. Chilly.
"That works," I said, refocusing on my tablet. "It gives us a catalyst – a special moment where our professional relationship shifted."
"We can say we started talking more personally during the playoff run, and after the win..." Cam's voice trailed off, his expression suddenly thoughtful.
"What?" I prompted.
"I finally worked up the courage to kiss you," he finished, his voice dropping lower. "At the team celebration. When everyone was distracted by Logan's Cup speech."
I looked up, caught off-guard by the specificity in his tone, like he was describing a real memory rather than fabricating one. "Seems like you've thought about this a bit."
He took a sip of his beer, eyes never leaving mine over the rim of his glass. "Just filling in details. Making it real."
Something about his intensity made me shift in my seat. "Okay. So we started dating in February, kept it quiet because of my position with the team and Zayne's..."
"Overprotectiveness?" Cam suggested delicately.
"Homicidal tendencies where my dating life is concerned," I corrected dryly.
Cam laughed, the sound bright and genuine, drawing glances from a nearby table. "Fair enough. So we've been sneaking around for eight months, and now...?"
"Now we feel secure enough in our relationship to go public."
"So, who made the first move? For real?" he asked, running a finger along the condensation on his glass.
"You already said you kissed me after the Cup win."
"I meant in our story. But in general, too." He leaned back, studying me with unexpected intensity. "I'm curious about how you see this playing out. In your mind, am I the pursuer or the pursued?"
I considered this, trying to separate my professional assessment from the strange flutter in my stomach.
"With your public image, people would expect you to make the move.
But for it to be believable as something serious rather than one of your.
.. usual encounters, there should be hesitation. Respect."
"So I pursued you, but carefully. Respectfully." He nodded slowly. "That tracks. Though for the record, I don't think I'd have had the patience to wait through eight months of secret dating before telling the world."
"It's a story, Cam. Not a reality show."
He shrugged, a casual motion that somehow emphasized the breadth of his shoulders under his t-shirt. "Even fictional characters need consistent motivations." I’d forgotten he was a reader.
"Fine. You pursued. I was reluctant because of professional boundaries. You wore me down with your charm and... whatever it is your fans see in you."
"My devastating good looks and scoring record?" he suggested with a grin.
"Right. That and your humility, clearly."
We both laughed, and for a moment, it felt almost normal – just two people having lunch, not constructing an elaborate deception.
"What about the proposal story?" Cam asked after our laughter had subsided. "We need something memorable but not too public."
"We're not actually claiming we're engaged, remember?" I reminded him, tapping my pen against my tablet for emphasis. "Just... heavily implying it."
"Still need a story for the ring. People will ask." His expression turned serious. "Trust me, they always ask."
I sighed, knowing he was right. "Something simple. Spontaneous. A private moment that feels authentic."
"The beach," Cam said immediately, leaning forward. "Last month, sunset walk. No witnesses except maybe a few distant beachgoers. I didn't plan it, didn't have a ring yet, but the moment was right."
I blinked at him. "That's... actually perfect."
"Told you I could be creative when motivated." His eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I wondered what exactly his motivation was. Oh yeah, four and a half million dollars. "What else do we need? Favorite couple activities?"
I consulted my list, grateful for the return to concrete details. "Things we supposedly do together. Movies, shows, hobbies. The little details that make a relationship feel real."
"Well, what do you actually like?" Cam asked, leaning forward again. "Might be easier to stick close to the truth."
It was a sensible approach. "I like independent films, true crime documentaries.
Hanging out at Siesta Key beach with my family when I actually have time off, which is basically never during hockey season.
Reading actual physical books. Boating when I can convince my dad to let me take his prized fishing boat out. " I shrugged. "Pretty basic stuff."
"Not basic. Real." Cam seemed to consider.
"I watch a lot of baking shows to relax.
Play guitar, badly. Love anything on the water – boating, surfing here, ice fishing back home in Minnesota, skiing, snowboarding.
" His eyes crinkled with a genuine smile.
"Have an embarrassing collection of weird socks. "
"I'm familiar," I laughed. His fans sent him crazy socks by the truckload.
He grinned and briefly lifted his pant leg to reveal today's choice: little tacos with cheerful cartoon faces. The ridiculousness of it – this professional athlete, this supposed bad boy, wearing whimsical socks – made me laugh despite myself.
"We need overlap," I said, steering us back on track. "Things we both genuinely enjoy that could be couple activities."
Cam thought for a moment. "BU hockey?"
"Go Terriers!" I yelled with unexpected enthusiasm and a bark for emphasis that made him chuckle.
"Cupcakes," he said suddenly. "You're always bringing those fancy ones to office meetings."
"Sweet Caroline's," I confirmed, genuinely surprised he'd noticed. "They do the lavender vanilla ones I like."
"So that's something we share. You love cupcakes. I love when you bring cupcakes."
"That would imply we're actually together outside of work events," I pointed out.
"That's the whole premise, isn't it?" he countered, that half-smile returning. "That we've been seeing each other privately for months?"
"Right. Of course." I made another note. "Cupcakes, BU hockey, hanging at the beach... what else?"
"TV shows? Movies?"
I thought about my recent binges. "Schitt's Creek? It has the right balance of humor and heart. Believable couple viewing."
"Love it. David and Patrick are couple goals." At my surprised look, he added, "What? It's a good show. I'm not just muscles and slapshots, Decker."