We stroll down one aisle and move to another. He comes up to my current project. A dining room table for the Caroline Street house. I don’t usually make original furniture for the homes my dad and I flip, but Steve and Lyle commissioned me to do this one. As with the nook on the second story, they wanted to add an element to the show where I include a handcrafted creation for each home we sell.

“You made this from scratch?” he asks, running his palm along the freshly sanded tabletop.

“Yeah,” I admit wryly. “I didn’t have anything big enough in stock, for the newly renovated open-concept kitchen, that is,” I say, grinning. “The wood is recycled barn wood, though. Locally sourced. It hits on the key points.”

“I can’t believe you made this.” He shakes his head. “I mean. I can believe it, actually, but I’m so impressed.”

“Thank you,” I say, pleased. More pleased than he can possibly know. “It’s intimidating, free-handing something, but I’ve been remaking pieces for years, so I had the basic idea.”

“The basic idea,” he says dryly. “I’d say so. This is art.”

“Thank you,” I repeat, my face warm.

“Do you miss acting?” he asks suddenly, not meeting my eyes. “It’s just … I thought you were a lifer, you know? You and Lyle. I figured you would do Hollywood forever.”

“I like how you and I both pretend we’re not doing Hollywood right now.”

He makes a face at the reminder and I laugh in commiseration.

“I don’t miss it,” I tell him, skirting the table and idly feeling for rough edges. I just sanded the top this morning. I make note of a patch I’ve missed, pulling out a carpentry pencil from the bench and making a light circle. “Not the way you mean. I should have left long before I did. I would have, even, if my mom hadn’t been the one pulling the strings for so long. She really got into my brain, even after I fired her. I love my dad, don’t get me wrong, but he shouldn’t have left me in her care growing up.”

His eyes are smiling. “That sounds like therapy, too.”

I concede, laughing again. It feels like it’s been years since I laughed this easily, especially talking about my past. “It is. Though, I skipped the part where I should have written a letter to him and burned it. I just straight-up yelled at him instead.”

“I can picture it.”

“To his credit, he took it. I was something to behold.”

“You usually are.”

I press my lips together and he busies himself looking under the table at the legs I’d turned. “These are pretty ornate for barn wood.”

“Cam,” I plead softly.

He straightens, sighing. “Sorry.”

“For what? For being sweet and making me blush?”

“It’s just…”