Chapter 8 #4
"I didn't have anything like this growing up," he said, gesturing toward the house, the dock, the entire scene. "No constant. We moved a lot, different apartments, different schools. Different step-parents."
The vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard. Cam rarely talked about his childhood, and I'd only gleaned bits and pieces over the years.
"That must have been hard," I said softly.
He shrugged, his casual demeanor returning like a shield sliding into place. "It taught me to adapt. New situations, new people – I got really good at reading the room."
"Is that what you're doing now? Reading the room?"
His eyes found mine, steady and unexpectedly sincere. "With you? No. I'm just being me."
"Lana! Cam! Dinner's ready!"
The moment shattered like glass, and I stepped back, breaking the strange intimacy that had settled around us.
"We should go," I said, my voice sounding odd to my own ears.
Cam nodded, but as I turned to head back up the path, he caught my hand, his fingers warm against mine.
"Lana," he said, his voice low. "For what it's worth, I meant what I said earlier. About respecting honesty."
I looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I'll try to give you more warning before I start improvising," he said with a small smile. "Scout's honor. For real this time."
Despite everything, I found myself smiling back. "Come on, fake fiancé. Let's go feed that bear you call a stomach."
His answering laugh was warm and genuine.
As we walked back to the house hand in hand, for appearances, I told myself firmly, I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between us, something that had nothing to do with our carefully constructed charade and everything to do with the man beside me.
Dinner was a surprisingly relaxed affair. My mother had prepared her famous seafood feast: grilled snapper, garlic shrimp, crab cakes, and an array of fresh sides. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine my father kept pouring.
To my relief, wedding talk was kept to a minimum, though my mother did occasionally drop not-so-subtle hints about her preference for outdoor ceremonies and her collection of family heirloom tablecloths that would be "perfect for a rehearsal dinner."
What surprised me most was how naturally Cam fit into our family dynamic.
He asked my father thoughtful questions about his coaching career, traded good-natured barbs with Zayne about their last practice scrimmage, and repeatedly complimented my mother's cooking with such genuine enthusiasm that she was practically glowing.
"So, Cam," my father said as we lingered over dessert. Key lime pie, another Decker family tradition. "Lana tells me you've got a big endorsement deal in the works."
I tensed slightly. This was dangerous territory.
"Potentially," Cam acknowledged with practiced casualness. "Nothing's finalized yet, but it's looking promising."
"Redline, right? They make good gear. My knee brace is Redline."
"That's the one," Cam confirmed. "They're expanding their hockey line, looking for a new face."
My father nodded thoughtfully. "Smart choice on their part. You've had a solid few seasons."
The casual compliment from Frank Decker – notoriously stingy with praise – was like receiving the hockey equivalent of a knighthood. I could spot it immediately by the slight widening of Cam's eyes that he recognized the significance.
"Thank you, sir – Frank," he corrected himself. "That means a lot, coming from you."
My father waved away the gratitude with characteristic gruffness. "Just stating facts. You could be stronger off the puck, though. You could definitely hustle more on the back check."
"Dad," I began with a warning look, but Cam was already nodding.
"You're right," he agreed readily. "Rocco's been chirping me about it all season."
My father's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd clearly expected pushback, not immediate acceptance. "Good. Too many young players these days get defensive about criticism."
"No point in that," Cam said with a shrug. "You don't improve by ignoring your weaknesses."
Something that might have been respect flickered across my father's face. "Well said."
My mother, sensing an opportunity to steer the conversation away from hockey, jumped in. "Speaking of improvement, Cam, did Lana tell you about the family photo session tomorrow? We're doing it right on the beach at sunset."
"Family photo session?" I repeated, instantly suspicious. “No, I did not tell him because this is the first I’m hearing of it.”
"Just a casual thing," my mother assured me. "Auntie Margaret's friend Connie is the photographer, and she's doing it as a favor. Nothing fancy, just some nice shots of everyone together while we're all here."
"And by 'everyone,' you mean..."
"The whole family," she confirmed brightly. "Your aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone! It's been a year since we've had everyone in one place for photos."
I groaned internally. The last Decker family photo session had devolved into chaos when Uncle Pete had too many beers and decided to go for a spontaneous swim – fully clothed – halfway through the shoot.
"That sounds great," Cam said, because of course he did. Mr. Perfect Fiancé, never missing an opportunity to score points with my mother. What surprised me was how genuinely happy he looked at the prospect.
"Wonderful!" she beamed. "I've laid out some options for coordinating outfits in the guest bedroom. Nothing too matchy-matchy, just complementary colors. Blues and whites, mostly."
I shot Cam a pointed look. This was his fault for mentioning blue as our wedding color.
"Of course," my mother continued, "I thought Lana might wear this lovely sundress with the blue flowers… it's hanging in your closet, honey. And Cam, if you have anything in a similar shade, that would be perfect."
"I think I packed something that might work," Cam replied, the picture of cooperation. "I love blue on Lana."
"Excellent!" My mother clapped her hands together.
"And while we're on the subject of photography, I was wondering if you two had given any thought to engagement photos?
My friend Marjorie's daughter just had the most beautiful shots taken at the Selby Botanical Gardens, or there's always Bayfront Park– "
"Diana." My father's voice, while gentle, carried an unmistakable note of warning. "They haven't even finished their dessert."
"You're right, you're right," she conceded, though I could tell it was killing her to drop the subject. "Plenty of time for all that. More pie, anyone?"
As conversation shifted to safer topics, I felt Cam's hand find mine under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture was small but anchoring, reminding me that at least I wasn't facing this charade alone.
By the time we'd finished dinner and helped clear the dishes, over my mother's pride and protests, the day's travel and emotional rollercoaster had finally caught up with me. A wave of exhaustion hit so suddenly that I had to stifle a yawn behind my hand.
"I think we should call it a night," Cam said, noticing immediately. "It's been a long day."
"Of course, of course," my mother agreed. "You must be tired from the drive. And the inquisition." She winked at Cam conspiratorially. "We'll see you in the morning – breakfast is at eight-thirty, but don't feel like you have to be punctual."
The knowing smile that accompanied this statement made me want to sink through the floor again. I managed a quick goodnight to everyone before escaping upstairs, Cam following close behind.
Back in my transformed bedroom – which looked even more romantic with the setting sun casting a golden glow through the gauzy curtains – I let out a long, slow breath.
"Well, we survived dinner," I said, kicking off my sandals.
"Your dad likes me." Cam sounded genuinely pleased as he leaned against the dresser, arms crossed.
"He tolerates you," I corrected, though secretly I had been surprised by my father's relative warmth. "But yes, you did okay."
"Just okay? I believe he said I've had 'solid seasons.' Coming from Frank Decker, that's practically a sonnet."
I laughed despite myself. "Fine. You charmed everyone. Even my Dad, which makes you the first boyfriend in history, real or imagined, to do so. Happy?"
"Getting there," he said with a grin that made my cheeks warm. "I still have the rest of the weekend to win over Uncle Pete and convince your grandmother I'm astrologically suitable."
The easy confidence in his voice made me pause. He was treating this whole situation with such... comfort. Like meeting my family, playing the doting fiancé, navigating the complex dynamics of the Deckers was all perfectly natural to him.
"Why are you so good at this?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Cam tilted his head, studying me. "At what?"
"This." I gestured vaguely between us. "The whole... pretending thing. It's like it's second nature to you."
Something flickered across his expression – a shadow of something serious beneath the easy charm – before he shrugged.
"I told you, I had to adapt a lot growing up.
New homes, new schools, new family configurations.
You learn to read the room, figure out what people want, what will make them comfortable. "
The admission carried a weight that made my heart ache a little. I'd known Cam had a complicated childhood, but I'd never fully considered what that might have meant for him emotionally, constantly having to figure out how to fit in, how to be accepted.
"That sounds exhausting," I said softly.
"It can be." He met my gaze, suddenly serious. "But this doesn't feel like that."
"No?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. This feels..."
The word hung in the air between us, unspoken. Real? Right? Dangerous territory, either way.
"We should get some sleep," I said quickly, breaking the moment. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day of family interrogation and coordinated photoshoots."