Chapter 9 #3
"How are you doing this?" I whispered as I watched him demonstrate a complicated hand-clapping game to six-year-old Emma, who gazed at him with undisguised adoration. "They're usually climbing the walls by now."
Cam shrugged, not missing a beat in the clapping sequence. "Kids are easy. They just want someone to pay attention to them."
There was something in his tone, a hint of hard-earned wisdom, that made me tilt my head and study him closer. "You're good with them."
"I coach youth hockey in the off-season," he said, high-fiving Emma as she successfully completed the pattern. "Kids this age are my specialty. Old enough to follow instructions, young enough to still think I'm cool."
I blinked, genuinely surprised. "You coach? I didn't know that. Although to be fair, I also didn’t know that you were cool." Teasingly, I elbowed him in the ribs.
"Har har. Mini-Mites, four to eight-year-olds," he said, his attention still on Emma as she attempted a more complicated pattern. "Two years now at the community rink in St. Pete."
"But that's a volunteer program," I said slowly, trying to reconcile this information with the Cam Murphy image I'd helped create. "I've been scheduling your charity appearances for three years. Why didn't this ever come up?"
He glanced up, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Lana."
Before I could respond, my mother clapped her hands for attention. "Everyone! Connie is here. Let's get organized! Family beach photos first, then we'll do smaller family groupings."
What followed was the controlled chaos of herding twenty Decker family members onto the beach and into aesthetically pleasing arrangements.
Connie, a cheerful woman with bright red lipstick and an impressive array of camera equipment, seemed unfazed by my mother's exacting standards, directing us with gentle but firm instructions.
"Now the engaged couple in the center," she called after capturing several large group shots. "Parents and siblings around them."
My mother practically glowed as she positioned herself next to me, while my father stood beside Cam with what almost passed for a smile.
Drake and Serena, who couldn't keep their hands off each other for more than thirty seconds, stood to our left, with Zayne completing the family circle on the right.
Nana insisted on standing directly behind us, claiming the "energy flow" was best there. Which…of course it was.
"Cam, put your arm around Lana's waist," Connie directed. "Lana, lean into him a bit more. That's it."
Cam's arm settled around me, heavy and secure, drawing me against his side.
I tensed instinctively, then forced myself to relax, to play the part of the blissfully engaged girlfriend.
To my surprise, it wasn't difficult at all.
. Cam's body now felt familiar, even after only one night of sharing a bed.
My own treacherous body recognized his, molding against him as if we'd been doing this for years instead of fumbling through a charade that had started mere weeks ago.
"Perfect!" Connie exclaimed. "Now, Cam, look at Lana like she's the most precious thing in your world."
I expected him to ham it up, to assume some exaggerated expression of adoration that would make me roll my eyes.
Instead, when I glanced up, I found him already looking at me with a softness in his eyes that made my breath catch.
There was no performance in that look, or if there was, it was the most convincing acting I'd ever witnessed.
And the Oscar goes to…
"Beautiful," Connie murmured, snapping away. "The camera loves you two."
For the next hour, we moved through a series of poses, each seemingly designed to increase the physical contact between Cam and me.
Hands linked, his arm around my shoulders, my head tucked against his chest. At one point, he stood behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, chin resting lightly on my shoulder as we faced the Gulf.
The combination of his solid presence, the heat of the Florida sun, and the constant sea breeze created a sensory cocoon that made it surprisingly easy to melt into him.
Or melt period because it was like 8,000 degrees outside.
The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back created a hypnotic cadence that threatened to lull me into a dangerous comfort.
"Whisper something that will make her laugh," Connie suggested.
His breath tickled my ear. "Your aunt just asked me if I'm planning to get a tattoo of your name. I told her I already have one, but it's not in a location I can show in a family photo."
A startled laugh escaped me, genuine and unforced. "You did not."
"I did. She nearly choked on her mimosa." His lips brushed against my temple, a touch so light it could have been accidental. "You have the best laugh, you know that?"
Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words, a dangerous tendril of pleasure that had nothing to do with our fake engagement and everything to do with the man holding me.
"Alright, just a few more," Connie announced. "Let's get some with just the couple. Everyone else can take a break."
As my family retreated to the deck, leaving Cam and me alone with the photographer, I felt suddenly exposed. Without the buffer of relatives around us, the pretense felt more intimate, more real.
"Let's try some walking shots," Connie suggested. "Just stroll along the water's edge, talking naturally. Pretend I'm not even here."
Cam took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine as we began walking along the shoreline.
The sun was high now, its light dancing across the gentle waves, and a soft breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen.
Tiny sandpipers darted along the wet sand ahead of us, leaving delicate footprints that disappeared with each incoming wave.
"You okay?" he asked quietly as we walked. "You seem tense."
I was – but not for the reasons he probably thought. I was tense because of how easy this all felt. How right. How real. How my hand fit perfectly in his, as if our fingers had been designed to interlock.
"I'm fine," I said. "Just... a lot of... togetherness."
"We can take a break after this," he offered. "I'm sure your family would understand if we needed some time alone."
The suggestion was practical, a respite from the constant performance, but something in his tone made me glance up sharply. His expression was carefully neutral, yet I sensed an undercurrent I couldn't quite name.
"Spin her around!" Connie called from behind us. "Like you're dancing on the beach!"
Cam raised an eyebrow. "May I have this dance?"
Before I could respond, he twirled me gently, then pulled me back against him, one hand settling at the small of my back, the other still holding mine.
We swayed together for a moment, not quite dancing but not quite standing still either, the warm sand shifting beneath our bare feet.
His eyes never left mine, and I found myself caught in their blue depths like a surfer in a riptide. Beautiful and dangerous.
"You look really pretty today," he said softly. "That dress... the color suits you."
The simple compliment shouldn't have affected me so deeply, but I felt the warmth of a blush spreading across my cheeks.
The dress was nothing special, just a simple blue sundress with tiny white flowers scattered across the fabric, but the way he looked at me made me feel as though I was wearing couture.
"Thank you," I managed. "You don't look so bad yourself."
He grinned. "High praise from Lana Decker."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." His expression sobered slightly. "Your family is great, you know. They really love you."
The observation caught me off guard. "They're... a lot. But yeah, they do."
"You're lucky," he said simply.
There it was again. That flicker of something deeper, a glimpse behind the confident facade he showed the world.
I kept thinking about what he'd told me on the dock yesterday, about never having a constant place growing up, about constantly learning to adapt to new situations and new people.
How different his childhood must have been from mine, with its revolving cast of step-parents and new homes, compared to the fierce, stable, even if sometimes overwhelming, love of the Decker family.
"Perfect!" Connie called, breaking the moment. "I think we've got some beautiful shots. Let's do a few more by the dunes before we lose this light."
The photoshoot continued for another thirty minutes, but my mind kept returning to that brief, unguarded moment. To the way Cam had said "You're lucky" without a trace of resentment, just a quiet acknowledgment of something precious.
By the time Connie declared the session complete and began packing up her equipment, I felt emotionally drained. Something had shifted between Cam and me, something subtle but undeniable, and I wasn't sure what to do about it.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" my mother asked as we rejoined the family on the deck. Mimosas were flowing freely now, and Aunt Margaret had commandeered the Bluetooth speaker to play what she called her "beach party playlist": an eclectic mix of Jimmy Buffett, Bob Marley, and inexplicably, Pitbull.
"It was fine," I said, accepting the glass of water my father pressed into my hand. "Connie seemed to get some good shots."
"You two photographed beautifully together," my mother said with satisfaction. "There's something about the way you look at each other. It just translates so well on camera."
I took a long sip of water, avoiding her knowing gaze. "We're just good at posing; all that media training."
"Hmm," she said, unconvinced. "Well, lunch is ready whenever you're hungry. We've got a seafood spread set up inside."