“Hey, Dad.”

My dad lifts his head. He looks the same, but older than when I saw him the last time, four years ago. He has a beard. Maybe we do look alike after all.

“Cameron. Have a seat.”

I slide into a booth and clasp my hands in front of me. He wraps his around his untouched ice water.

“Your mom told me where to find you.”

I nod.

“Thought I’d better stop by before you took off.”

There it is.

“I’m planning to stick around, actually. I like it here.”

“Living above a bar?”

“It’s a distillery and it’s not half bad. The rent is reasonable, and it’s close to work.”

“Right. The reality show.”

Strike two.

“It’s a home-renovation show, actually.”

“Can’t imagine there’s too much home renovation happening in the rain forests.”

I suppress a sigh. “Cloud forests. And you’re right, but I’m a quick study. I’ve been apprenticing under Daniel Springfield and learning a lot. He thinks I have a knack for it.”

“Oh, well, if Daniel Springfield thinks so…”

This time I let my sigh out. Because, fucking-A, I’m tired. “What exactly did you come here for, Dad?”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing. You’re my son, and I care what you’re doing with your life. I tried calling you.”

I swallow my guilt. The time never felt right to call him back. Honestly, I didn’t want to deal with him poking holes in my already-shaky plans. “Well, then, you should be pleased, Dad. I’m doing well. I’m living in one place, working a job where I’m making something worthwhile, dating a girl I really love … everything is going well.”

“And what happens if the show isn’t picked up? Are you just going to keep renovating houses and living above a bar?”

“Distillery, and maybe! I don’t know yet.”

“I looked you up online.” I grimace. Christ, here we go. Leave it to Paul to pick at every single one of my insecurities until they bleed. “I read the articles. Hot-mess costar, Hollywood drama. It doesn’t sound real stable, Cameron. What happened to National Geographic?”

“I thought you hated me traveling the world doing docs.”

“I did, but at least it was a respectable, steady job.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “For fuck’s sake, make up your mind! First of all, that article and any others you read online are garbage. Shelby doesn’t even drink and she’s ridiculously talented at what she does. Her commissions make more in a month than I’d venture the landscaping business makes in a year. The only reason we have this show is because of her. Lyle Jessup is fucking around and holding the pilot over us because he’s jealous that she moved on and made a name for herself outside of Hollywood.