Having to shuttle back and forth between parents had turned Charlie into an independent traveler. But the grin that lit his face each time he saw Logan was all little boy. The fact was, every time Logan saw his little boy walk through the arrivals door at the airport, with his backpack and roll-aboard in tow, travel documents in a packet around his neck, he nearly lost it. Yet for Charlie’s sake, he held himself together, told the kid he was proud of him. The Unaccompanied Minor guide could barely keep up with him as Charlie ran to fill his father’s arms. Logan never tired of feeling that rush of love and relief washing over him the moment they were reunited.

“If he’s an old hand, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“But an overseas flight? I’m nervous as hell about how he’ll handle it.”

“Is Charlie nervous?”

“Good question.”

“I bet he’ll surprise you. I was a great adventurer as a kid, always up for anything.”

Logan found it easy to picture her as a kid, with pigtails and scraped knees. Then he thought about his son. “Charlie’s supercautious sometimes. Last summer, there was zip-lining at Camp Kioga, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Not even when every other kid went for it.”

“I’m no expert, but I bet fear of the unknown is common in kids. Come to think of it, it’s common in adults, too.”

“You’d love zip-lining,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

She smiled and ducked her head. Her smile did something funny to his insides. Then, as they reached the end of the path leading to the beach, she said, “Well, this is a great place to come home to. He’s a lucky kid.”

“That’s a nice thing to say. I hope he feels lucky.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Look where we are.” They stepped onto the sun-warmed sand together. He heard her catch her breath as she clapped a hand atop her head to keep her hat from sailing away in the breeze.

“Amazing,” she said, surveying the expanse of brown-sugar sand. The area was bordered by private cabanas. Closer to the surf, the sand was dotted with umbrellas and family groups. Kids played in the waves, and barefoot couples strolled along together. “So this was your childhood playground? It’s fantastic here.”

Their first stop would be at the O’Donnell cabana—yes, the O’Donnells had been homeowners at Paradise Cove for so long that they had their own cabana, something available only to longtime residents. It bore the traditional canvas stripes and the interior was roomy, like an old-fashioned salon with potted tropical plants and a ceiling fan, upholstered chaises and a small fridge stocked with drinks. On the side, the surfboards were lined up according to size.