She rose from the bed, wondering if he was watching her, not that she cared, but of course he was watching her.

“Bathroom’s that way,” he said, “in case you don’t remember.” (She didn’t.)

She looked out the window. She could see a pristine pool bordered by iron lawn chairs with bright orange cushions and contrasting turquoise pillows—a color combination of which she approved. She could see a badminton net set up with a crisp yellow border around it, and the requisite corn hole game, painted with the Red Sox logo.

“Be right back,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound coquettish. The bathroom was en suite. There were two sinks, side by side, the kind where the sinks look like bowls or vessels dug up from a Greek archeological site and refurbished to perfection. She looked in the mirror above one of the sinks. Her hair was a disaster, and her mascara was smeared. She would never, ever let Tyler see her like this, nor would Tyler want to. She washed her face, then opened the cabinet under one of the sinks to see if she could find some passable moisturizer. There was a brand-new tub of Kiehl’s ultra facial cream, which would do just fine. She slathered it on, and returned to the bedroom.

Cam was still grinning. He had made the bed and returned the throw pillows to where they must have been before she crashed the night before.

“Breakfast?” he said. “I make a good omelet.”

Of course he did. She was really hungry. She acquiesced to the omelet, which, it turned out, was one of the best she had ever tasted; it was positively dripping with cheddar cheese, and also included a costarring role of a gorgeous tomato.

While they ate they played a couple of rounds of the name game. They knew a few people in common; they were only two years apart in school. They went to different preschools, Alexa to Knoll-Edge and Cam to Mrs. Murray’s, so their paths had diverged from the beginning. She told him about Colby with a straight face and he said, “I have a buddy there. I’ll tell him to look out for you. He’ll be a junior, same as me. We went to the Prep together. Ethan Whittaker.”

“Great,” she said. “Ethan Whittaker. I’ll keep my eye out for him.”

When she finished her omelet she loaded her plate in the dishwasher and offered to load his as well, not because she considered that woman’s work but because he had done the cooking so it seemed only fair. The omelet pan was already clean, set upside down to dry.

“I have to work at nine,” said Cam. “We’d better get going. I’ll drop you off at home on my way, okay?”