“It’s for filler,” he explains. “Something fun and light for in between the bits that are too construction intensive.” I love how at least Steve thinks furniture shopping is “fun and light.” Shelby swings by the house to pick me up. I’m all sweaty and covered in a layer of sawdust, but Steve said it added to the “authenticity of the thing,” which is a trip because this is very authentic work grime I’m wearing right now.

Shelby laughs at my peeved expression when I apologize for getting her car dirty.

“I have some baby wipes in the back, if you want.”

“Do I even want to know?” I ask, even as I reach an arm back and fish the package out, tearing it open and scrubbing my neck and forearms down with a wipe.

“Believe it or not, they remove all sorts of things, like permanent marker and finish, in a pinch.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’re welcome.”

I make a face. “My beard smells like baby soap.”

“Don’t be so dramatic; they’re unscented.”

“I promise they aren’t.”

She smirks. “Poor Cameron Riggs, brought low by baby wipes.”

“I preferred the sawdust. At least that was manly.”

“Don’t worry,” she quips, wrinkling her nose. “You’re still plenty manly smelling.”

I lean over in my seat, rubbing my sweat on her. “What was that?”

“Cam! Gross!” She makes a show of gagging.

“Gotta cover you in my masculine essence.”

“See if I ever share my baby wipes with you again.”

It’s then that I notice the red light on the car camera and curse under my breath. Shelby grins, full of glee. “Oh yeah. You just said ‘masculine essence’ on television.”

“Fucking Lyle,” I say.

She taps her chin with a fingertip. “I wonder if we could make that the working title?”

She winks at the camera right as I’m flipping it the bird.

A few minutes later, Shelby pulls up a gravel drive and parks behind a dozen other pickup trucks.

“This is a farm sale?” I ask.

“Barn sale, actually. And yes. Steve is here already, so I guess we walk up like everything is normal…”

“Totally.”

“And shop.”

“Act natural.”

“If you can manage it, Riggs?” Her eyebrow arches in a challenge and I’m tempted to kiss it.

“Oh. I can manage it.” We walk up and I see the camera crew standing outside the barn, waiting. I continue in a low voice, only for her. “It’s just, you don’t really realize how ridiculous reality television is until you are out and about in reality.”

“And everyone is staring at you.”

“Right.”

“At least I didn’t just take a bath with baby wipes.”

I growl and lunge for her. She shrieks a little and skitters out of reach.

“Professional truce.” She holds a hand out.