Of course, he meant something outside of the entertainment industry. TV wasn’t serious. It wasn’t real. It was flash and camera angles and clowning around. To him, it wasn’t me. I couldn’t claim any of it as mine. Not even documentaries, as important as they can be, were important enough for him.

Home, family, and hard work. Those were the only things that mattered, and I’m only halfway there. Likely, as close as I’ll ever get, if there’s a camera aimed at my face.

Still, this is a whole new kind of meaningful. Renovating this home is a service and I find myself, for the first time in a long time, really enjoying myself. It’s taking all my strength, skill, and energy to accomplish this and I’m crazy for the feeling.

I get it. I understand why Daniel and Shelby do this, over and over. I haven’t even gotten to the part where we are rebuilding something better, and already I feel more challenged than I have in years.

It’s a good feeling.

It’s even better when I think about how I’m here, doing this, with her. I haven’t made a lot of good decisions in my life, but this feels like it might be one of the best.

It’s a few weeks since I’ve arrived in Michigan before I find myself in Shelby’s personal workshop. I haven’t felt right asking to see her shop ever since I walked in on the argument between (virtual) Lyle, Steve, and Shelby about her refusal to allow filming in her barn. But tonight, on our way out of Kevin’s bar where we’d been having drinks with the crew, she finally offered, and there was no way I could refuse. I’ve been dying of curiosity to see where she spends her time—the place she found for herself after leaving L.A. behind.

We leave everyone at the bar, and I drive us over. This feels familiar. Only this morning, Steve sent us to look at some countertops for the kitchen, on film. The difference now is that it’s just us. Cameron and Shelby. No one around to flirt for. No one to convince of our chemistry. Not that it’s a hardship to do those things, but at the end of the day, it’s still a job. And it’s hard to parse real feelings with an audience.

Shelby settles back into the passenger seat with a long, drawn-out yawn and a minute later, I’m echoing it.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” I make myself say. “I’m happy to just drop you off.”