“Yeah, a whole two miles!” That works because I’ve said it so cheerfully, and Cameron smiles his bright white smile. He’s not wearing the beanie, but he is wearing the bracelets, which look more ridiculous in person. I have the feeling he gave Lark the idea for her outfit, because he’s got on a version of the same thing—black boots, dark jeans, vintage-looking black T-shirt. He’s handsome—not Reid Sutherland handsome, though I guess that’s an unfair standard for anyone to meet, given my personal preference for his face—but there’s something off-putting about his good looks, how he matches them with an aren’t-you-flattered-to-have-my-attention attitude.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he says. “The Slope is great for families.”

The Slope? I know from Cameron’s IMDB page that he’s from Malibu, so I’m pretty annoyed already. If Lachelle was here she’d be giving him a look, the kind of look where the two o’s are drawn as to-the-side eyeballs, but I nod my head in agreement. There’s a strong smell of secondhand embarrassment coming off Lark, which at least is mitigating the smell of Cameron’s too-strong cologne.

“I love the feel of it here, you know? It’s so . . .” I already know what he’s going to say next, and I brace myself for the impact of the irritation I’m about to feel. “Gritty,” he finishes.

“Uh-huh.” I drop his hand. I mean, okay. There’s an IKEA not far from here; I think he can stop being so smug about Red Hook. “Well, it’s really nice to meet you. You have a beautiful home.” That was built last year.

“Still coming together, obviously.” He puts an arm around Lark. “But I’ve got my princess here on the job.”

One hundred percent of the sentences in my head now start with his name. Cameron is the worst. Cameron would never bring Lark a sandwich. Cameron probably doesn’t know what a poem is. Cameron: ugh.

I nod and smile.

Lark ducks from under his arm, goes back to her stool. “Meg and I were looking over some things,” she says, her voice cool. I get the sense she’s trying to tell him to find something else to do, maybe to go put saddle soap on his bracelets or something, but instead he goes to the other side of the island and leans over my sketches. I go back to my seat next to Lark, giving her an encouraging smile.

“This for a kid’s room, or something?” Cameron says, looking at the pink and green treatment. Another piece of jewelry has come loose from underneath the neck of his T-shirt. It’s a shark tooth. On a thin rope of leather. Reid would die.

“Cam,” Lark whispers sharply.