“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we—” Olivia’s voice is teasing and excited.

I poke her in the back with my paddle. “We’re close.”

“You said that at the last turn in the river,” she says. “I’m starting to think you don’t actually know how to get to your secret art spot.”

“What if it’s so super-secret I can only get there by accident?” I promised Olivia that I’d show her my art spot in the dunes, and today I’m finally doing it. She’s in front of me, paddling in a way that’s actually helping us get somewhere, which is a fun change from the first trips we took together. When I spot the crescent of sand that dips into the shore and leads the way to my favorite spot, I point my paddle toward the bank.

Olivia squeals, and I’m a little nervous that this trip is going to be a total letdown after what she’s built up in her head. I think she might have envisioned a unicorn up there, or something. I get out and pull the canoe out of the water, helping Olivia walk up to the bow and out onto the sand. Unlike the other spots I’ve taken her to, this hike is short; through a patch of trees and then up one dune that slopes gently upward.

“Is it just me, or am I getting better at this?” she asks as we get near the top.

“You’re so excited about this, I’m actually having second thoughts about showing you,” I say.

She stops where she is and smacks my arm. “Aiden Emerson, you better not be a pony-promiser.”

“A … what?”

“It’s someone who breaks promises,” she says, taking a few more steps. “When I was a kid we used to get those sweepstakes forms—you know, the ones you get in the mail—and I’d peel off all of the little magazine stickers and send them back in, and my mom would always say that when we won, I could get a pony.” She laughs but it sounds kind of sad. “So I always thought getting a pony was actually this inevitable thing, until I got older and realized that a million other people were entering that stupid contest. And that—you know—we were never going to win.” She looks at me sternly. “Pony promises.”

“In that case I think I should probably be up front, and tell you there is absolutely, positively, no pony waiting for you up there.” I laugh, and she stops to smack my arm again. I grab her hand and pull her more quickly, until we’re trudging through the sand in a slow-motion run. When I can see the top I bring us to a stop and lower my voice. “Are you ready for this?”