“Shake?” He offered his hand and she took it. The skin on Cam’s hand was soft, with a slight bump in the palm that might have been a callus from a golf club. He held on to her hand longer than a typical handshake would require and her stomach went through another round of gymnastics. Then Cam said, “Well, what are we waiting for? Welcome to my humble abode.” He swung the door wide, and in she went.

In the kitchen stood a woman with short, stylish hair, white shorts, and a peach-colored tank top; she was slicing lemons. She was barefoot and suntanned—older than Alexa’s mom, but not so much older.

“Mom, this is Alexa. The one I told you about. Alexa, my mom, Linda. Beware of her, please, she’s on vacation from the law firm for two weeks so she’s dangerously relaxed.”

Linda looked up and smiled, and Alexa said, “Hi, nice to meet you.” She tried to study Linda without being obvious about it. She could see where Cam got his dimples.

“Nice to meet you, Alexa!” Linda said. “I’d shake your hand, but, well—” She gestured to the lemons.

“I get it,” said Alexa. “We’ll just wave.” She waved.

The counters sparkled. The refrigerator was industrial-size, with one half devoted to a glassed-in beverage fridge. An upside-down canoe attached to the kitchen ceiling held rows of wineglasses and cocktail glasses. It was all so sunny and good, Alexa felt like there must be a catch. Was a murderer about to jump out of the butler’s pantry? A rabid dog loose somewhere on the grounds? A girlfriend hiding upstairs, in the guest quarters? (Surely there were guest quarters.)

“Want to see the house?” said Cam. He was as eager as a little boy. “Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“No,” she said, and he looked crestfallen. “I mean, no, I’m not hungry, yes, I want to see the house.” Cam smiled, and she followed him out of the kitchen.

The upstairs hallway formed a loft that overlooked the massively cozy living room. In the living room, there were deer heads mounted on the wall (real?) and a friendly pot-bellied bear made of some sort of metal or stone (definitely not real) standing proudly on one side of the fireplace, one paw extended, like he was giving a tour. A pair of old-fashioned skis was crisscrossed above the stone fireplace, and just below it hung a single snowshoe that was woven like a basket.