I feel my cheeks burn. “He was mine, as you well know, but I wasn’t his. Practically the minute we had sex, he quit the show and left.”

“And Lyle was there to pick up the pieces.”

“It was a long time ago,” I say, smoothing my hands down my leggings.

“So was my fiasco, but you like to dredge that up often enough,” she mutters heatedly.

Maren snorts. “That’s because you’re too stubborn for your own good.” She taps her chin with a pair of shears, winking at me in the mirror. “How does that new Drake Colter song go again?”

I grin, feeling smug. “The one where he waxes poetic about his many mistakes and is begging for his lost love to return to him?”

“It’s a terrible pun,” Lorelai grouses.

“It’s called ‘Jonesin’,’” I say, laying my emphasis on thick as syrup.

“We were talking about Cameron.”

“We were talking about my haircut, actually,” I say.

“Right.” Maren snaps to attention. “But we will be revisiting all of that,” she says, gesturing between Lorelai and me, “over some of those chocolate-chip cookies you brought after I’m done.”

“What the fuck, Shelby? I said a trim!”

“Thanks, Lyle. I like it, too,” I say on speakerphone as Rebecca, a friendly stylist, powders my face. She snickers under her breath.

“You don’t even look the same! We asked for Shelby Springfield.”

I roll my eyes at Rebecca. “Last I checked, I’m still her, for better or worse, Lyle. It’s only a haircut.”

“You look older.”

“One of us should,” I quip, pleased. “Besides, Cam grew a whole-ass beard, and you aren’t up his butt about it.”

Cameron smothers a smile behind his bear paw of a hand. “Don’t you drag me into this,” he mumbles low enough that Lyle can’t hear.

“Listen, Lyle, we have an appointment with the Realtor in fifteen. I gotta go.”

“Put Steve on!” he yells, referring to our director. Instead, I end the call.

“Oooh, he’s gonna be mad at you for that,” Cameron jokes.

“Ugh!” I say. My nostrils flare out, full of indignation. “He’s such a jerk. How’d he even know about my hair?”

Rebecca grimaces. “Steve.”

I glare over at where our director is talking with the lone camera guy, Darius. We’ll have one unmanned camera in the car as we drive from house to house, with Darius following us while we do our walk-throughs and getting the talking head–style fillers as we discuss our thoughts on various properties.

“Traitor.”

“I bet if you bake him some cookies, he’ll be putty in your hands,” Cameron suggests from his chair. Rebecca is rubbing some kind of waxy balm between her fingers and smoothing it through his beard.

I grin. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”