“Yeah, well, I don’t think anyone is interested in my brand of experience.”

“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. We have this conversation once a month. So far, Lorelai has been content to play gigs at small-town bars while using her elementary teaching degree the rest of the time.

“So, why were you hiding from your phone?”

“I wasn’t. Not really. It’s just nerves.”

Lorelai makes a sound of understanding in the back of her throat.

“The first time, I didn’t really care that much whether it worked out or not. My dad was reluctant, and really, I was, too, when it came down to the inevitable press. But when they didn’t pick up the pilot, I was disappointed. I’d kind of gotten used to the idea that this would be the best way to make sure my dad can retire comfortably.” Six months ago, my dad and I were approached to do a pilot called HomeMade, one of those home-renovation shows. You know the kind: a couple buys up homes, fixes them, and flips them. We thought it turned out pretty well for a freshman effort, but apparently my dad is not meant for television. Go figure. The middle-aged contractor from Michigan doesn’t have the ever-elusive “it” factor.

“That’s not your responsibility, hon.”

I huff out a breath, playing with the handle on my suitcase, extending it and collapsing it again. “It feels like it should be, though. And that was before his accident.” My dad had gotten into a pileup on the interstate while driving to a worksite last fall. He came out of it alive, but his knee was crushed against the dash. It’s been a slow road to recovery, not least because he’s an ornery coot who’s decided to be allergic to physical therapy. “He can’t keep working on frozen jobsites. It’s terrible for his joints. He basically saved my life and I want to be able to do the same for him.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m going to have to say yes, Lore. To whatever they offer.”

Lorelai freezes midstep and slowly turns to face me, her hand resting on the shop door handle.

“You aren’t.” She groans. “Shelby! I thought we agreed that you would take the free flight, hear them out long enough to be polite, and be home before the paparazzi even know you were in town.”

“Right. I’m doing that, still. But also, I’m going to agree to it. On paper, HomeMade has merit. I can do this.”

Lorelai’s small hand finds her hip. “What if they want to swap your dad for your mom as your costar?”

My throat goes dry. “They wouldn’t do that.” She raises her brows. “No, seriously, that would be a terrible idea. Ada Mae and I are oil and water. They aren’t that dumb.”