Chapter 12
By the time I'd showered and dressed in a simple sundress over my swimsuit, the men had departed, leaving the beach house blissfully quiet. Or at least, as quiet as it could be with my mother, Nana, Aunt Margaret and the kids still in residence.
I found them by the pool, already settled with a pitcher of mimosas.
My mother reclined on a lounge chair in an elegant cover-up, large sunhat shading her face.
Nana had arranged her crystals in a semicircle around her chair, and Aunt Margaret sat with her feet in the water, the pink pair of those infamous sandals lined up neatly beside her.
"There she is!" Aunt Margaret called, raising her mimosa glass. "We were wondering when you'd join us. Cam said to let you sleep in."
"Did he now?" I replied, trying to ignore the little flutter in my chest at the thought of Cam being considerate of my rest. I ignored the further implication: that they had discussed me, that Cam had seen me sleeping, that we were truly acting like a couple in all the little ways that mattered. "When did they leave?"
"About an hour ago," my mother said, passing me a mimosa. "Your father was eager to get out before the tide changed. They took some sandwiches with them, so they probably won't be back until late afternoon."
I settled into the empty lounge chair, grateful for the momentary reprieve from Cam's presence.
Not that he was doing anything wrong, quite the opposite.
He was being charming, attentive, thoughtful.
Basically perfect. And that was the problem.
The sweeter he was, the harder it became to remember this was all an act.
"So," Aunt Margaret began, swirling her mimosa with that mischievous glint in her eye that spelled trouble, "now that the men are gone, you can tell us the real story. How did you and Cam finally get together? After all these years of working together, what changed?"
I took a fortifying sip of mimosa, trying to say something true that also fit within our agreed-upon story. The last thing I wanted to do was lie to my family. "It just happened naturally. One day I looked at him and saw him differently."
"Mmm-hmm," Aunt Margaret looked unconvinced, her eyebrow arching skeptically. "Was alcohol involved? Because that man is delicious, and if you waited years to jump on that, you either have the willpower of a saint or the observational skills of a turnip."
"Margaret!" my mother chided, though I could see she was fighting a smile.
"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking." She shrugged unapologetically.
"What is the real Cam like?" my mother asked, her voice softer, genuinely curious. "Behind all the charm and hockey talent?"
The question caught me off guard. What was the real Cam like? Not the carefully crafted heartthrob image we'd built for marketing purposes. Not the performance he was putting on for my family. The real Cam.
"He's..." I paused, surprised by how easily the words came.
"He's thoughtful. Observant. He notices things about people that others miss.
He remembers little details, like how everyone takes their coffee or which kids like which pancake shapes.
He's funny and warm and makes everyone around him feel included. "
I realized I was smiling as I spoke, my voice taking on a warmth that wasn't practiced. "He's this confident jock on the ice, but he's actually kind of a homebody. And he's surprisingly vulnerable sometimes."
The three women exchanged a look I couldn't quite interpret.
"Mmm-hmm," Aunt Margaret teased, "Look who's blushing like a teenager talking about her first crush..."
My hand flew to my cheek, which did indeed feel warm. "It's just the sun," I protested.
"Darling," my mother said gently, "it's wonderful to see you so happy. Cam is clearly good for you – you just light up when he's around. And your dad likes him. Who knew that was even possible in our lifetimes?"
"And he can't take his eyes off of you," Aunt Margaret added with a wink. "That man looks at you like you hung the moon and stars."
"I don't know about that," I said, attempting to brush it off while ignoring the little thrill her words sent through me.
"He's so good with the kids. They were climbing all over him this morning like he was a jungle gym. No pressure, darling, and all in your own time – but he'll certainly make a wonderful father someday." My mother smiled affectionately and patted me on the leg. "And Oh! Those blue eyes!"
I couldn't tell if my mother was just suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of Cam's striking blue eyes or already imagining her future grandchildren.
And endorphins be damned, I couldn't stop myself from swooning a little when I recalled Cam hamming it up with the kids this weekend, "I think so too. "
"Look, she's blushing again," teased Aunt Margaret.
"Connection like that isn't something you can fake," Nana pronounced with the confidence of one who had consulted the cosmos and found them in agreement. "I saw it in his aura the moment you two walked in. Blue with purple flecks. Very rare. Very powerful bond."
"Purple means passion and spiritual awakening," Aunt Margaret supplied helpfully.
"I thought it meant royalty," my mother chimed in.
"In crystal energy, it's transformation," Nana corrected them both with a dismissive wave. "And in Cam's aura, surrounding Lana, it means he's found his soul's match."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "Nana, please. Let's not get carried away with auras and soul matches. We're just... dating." Even I could hear how weak that sounded, given the giant sea-colored sapphire on my finger, glinting in the sun.
"The stars don't lie, dear," Nana said firmly, peering at me over her reading glasses.
"I dug a little deeper into your charts again this morning while you were sleeping.
Pluto is activating your seventh house: the house of partnerships.
Major transformation is coming. By the next full moon, everything will be different. "
"Different how?" I asked, unable to stop myself. If I could have rolled my own eyes at myself right that moment, I would have. What was happening to me? Looking for horoscope confirmation that Cam and I have a future? Am I completely out of my lust-addled mind?
Nana's eyes took on that misty, faraway look that always preceded her most dramatic pronouncements. "The walls you've built will come down. What began as pretense will become truth. The heart cannot be fooled for long, dear one."
An uncomfortable silence fell as her words settled over us. I fidgeted with my mimosa flute, unsure how to respond. Did she know? Had she somehow intuited that our engagement was fake? Or was this just more of Nana's typical mystical generalizations that could apply to anyone?
"Well," my mother finally said brightly, "enough serious talk. Who wants another mimosa?"
"Me!" I said, draining my glass and grateful for the distraction.
As my mother poured, the conversation mercifully shifted to lighter topics: Aunt Margaret's cruise plans, my cousin Nora's daughter starting kindergarten, the outrageous price of the beachfront property down the shore that had just sold.
I let their chatter wash over me, contributing enough to seem engaged while my mind continued to circle around Nana's words and my own confusing feelings.
By the time we'd finished the pitcher of mimosas and relocated to the kitchen for a late lunch, I was no closer to sorting out the tangle of emotions in my chest. One thing was becoming clear, though: somehow I'd ended up talking about Cam all morning like I'd completely fallen for him, not just for show.
And that felt like the opening salvo of the biggest crisis I'd ever manage.
The men returned mid-afternoon with sunburned faces, the smell of fish and salt clinging to their clothes, and the boisterous, masculine energy that always accompanied a successful fishing trip.
My father led the procession, proudly carrying a cooler that presumably contained their catch, with Drake, Zayne, and Cam following behind, each laden with gear.
"Ladies!" my father called as they trooped up to the deck where we'd relocated to enjoy the sea breeze. "Hope you're hungry for the freshest redfish you've ever tasted!"
"Did you save any fish for the rest of the Gulf?" my mother asked dryly, eyeing the catch.
"Wait till you see what Cam caught," Drake said, clapping Cam on the shoulder with obvious respect. "Biggest one of the day. Dad's still salty about it."
"Beginner's luck," my father grumbled, though the pride in his voice belied his words. "Though I'll admit, the boy's got a natural feel for when to set the hook."
Cam looked like a different person than the polished NHL star the public knew.
His face was slightly sunburned across the nose and cheeks, his hair tousled by the sea breeze, and his t-shirt bore the stains of a day spent hauling in fish.
But his eyes were bright with excitement, and his smile – a real, unrehearsed grin – was infectious.
"How was it?" I asked, rising to help them with the gear.
"Incredible," Cam said, his enthusiasm genuine as he set down the tackle box. "Your dad knows all the best spots. I've never seen fish that size so close to shore."
"Tell her about the osprey," Drake prompted, grinning.
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."