There was a bunk room where the bunks were made out of roughly hewn logs and covered with quilts that looked like they were sewn by a thousand perfect grandmothers. In the corner of another bedroom sat a tiny, inoffensive pile of clothing. (“Mine,” said Cam. “I’m the only slob in the family.”) She should have known: some of the clothing was purple. The only other sign of inhabitance was a book opened facedown on the bed. Dreams from My Father. (“Early Obama,” said Cam.) She rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile. This guy was too much.

“I saved the best for last,” said Cam. “We’re going outside,” he called to his mom, who was still in the kitchen, and she called back, “Okay, honey!”

What could be better than everything they’d already seen? Well, the lake, of course. Alexa followed Cam out the back door and down a flagstone path to a semicircular rock wall enclosing the world’s most adorable private beach. There were four lounge chairs and a boat garage that was a miniature version of the house, also made of wood and also with a green roof. To the right of the semicircle beach was yet another deck, or really more like a little dock, with two Adirondack chairs and a small table. It was here that Cam led Alexa.

Alexa settled into the chair he indicated. “Cam! This is insane. You know this is insane, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sort of.” He ducked his head modestly. “This was Mom’s present to us when she made partner. I mean, to herself too, sure, but she was trying to make it up to us for being gone so much, working when we were growing up. She worked really hard to get where she is.” He began to look wistful—maybe even a little sad, and Alexa found herself putting her hand over his.

“Winnipesaukee,” she said. The word came out of her involuntarily, like a hiccup or a spasm.

“This is technically Winter Harbor,” Cam said, recovering from his memories of his less-than-perfect childhood, which actually seemed about as close to perfect as a childhood could get. “It feeds into Winnipesaukee just down there.” He pointed. “Dad’s out on the boat right now, or else I’d take you around. When I do, I can point out Mitt Romney’s house, which makes this place look like a two-star-on-Trip-Advisor shack. Hey, want to go grab something to eat in town? Or do you have to get back?”

Alexa thought about Hannah, scooping ice cream for the customers who should be Alexa’s. “Nope, there’s nothing I need to get back for,” she said. When she thought about the rooms full of cozy beds she wanted nothing more than to lay her head down on one of the pillows and curl up under one of the grandmother quilts.