She passed the parking for the Sandy Point Beach Resort, which looked like something out of a 1950s movie, and the parking area for Mount Major. She wound through Meredith and Center Harbor and Moultonborough. Finally, just as she was approaching Wolfeboro, she followed her GPS across a skinny, skinny road with water on both sides, made two turns, and arrived at Cam’s house. In case Alexa had any lingering doubts about the address being correct, they were immediately assuaged by the sight of not one, not two, but three vehicles in the driveway (one being the minivan) bearing St. Michael’s College stickers.

She sat for a moment in the Jeep, wondering if she should just turn around and go back home. What, exactly, was she doing here?

There was a movement behind one of the windows. She’d been spotted. Nothing to do now but get out of the car and knock on the door.

“Alexa!” Cam said. He didn’t say, How’d you know where I live, you psycho stalker? He didn’t say, Don’t you remember that I don’t like you very much? He simply smiled and nodded—that broad, welcoming smile—as though he’d been expecting her all along, and he said, “I’m really happy to see you.”

“You are?” Tears sprang inconveniently to Alexa’s eyes. She blinked them back and didn’t let her hand reach up to wipe them away.

“Yeah. I’ve been feeling bad about the fight. Really bad.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

“I think I was agitated, that’s what it was. About—the thing you told me, at Canobie Lake. And I let my agitation get the better of me. I’m really sorry, Alexa. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“But it’s my fault,” she said. “That’s why I drove up here, because I did a really bad job talking about it the other day—and I got, I don’t know, I just got upset over nothing, and it all spun out of control. I came here to apologize. I’m really, really sorry.”

Wow. Apologizing felt really good. Unexpectedly good. How come nobody had ever told Alexa that it would feel so good?

“Alexa Thornhill, I accept your apology.” Cam spoke ceremoniously. He stood up straight, the way she imagined he might if he were about to accept a golf trophy. “And I’d like to offer you one of my own. I’m truly, honestly sorry for what I said.” There was something in his gaze that made her stomach flip, and then flop, and then flip again. “Will you do me the honor of accepting my apology?”

Alexa rolled her eyes at the formal language and smiled at the same time she was rolling her eyes; she couldn’t help it. “I will,” she said. “I definitely will.”