“Thank you,” Irene says.

“Text me your mailing address,” Mavis says. “I’ll have it packaged properly and shipped with insurance.”

“That’s above and beyond—”

“And Irene,” Mavis says, “I want you to call my twin sister. She’s a corporate attorney in New York City, and she deals with white-collar criminals who make Russ look like Mister Rogers.”

Irene very much doubts that. “I didn’t know you had a twin,” she says. Then she realizes she knows next to nothing about Mavis’s personal life.

“Well, I’m warning you, she’s very tough. I find her a bit intimidating, to be honest.”

This gets Irene’s attention. Mavis, with her extreme self-confidence, her stylish clothes, her cutting-edge vision, finds her sister intimidating? What must the woman be like?

“I’m not sure what I need,” Irene says.

“You need Nat,” Mavis says. “Natalie Key. Call her, Irene.”

Baker

Thursday, four in the morning, Houston, Texas. Baker sits straight up in bed. This is it. This is happening. Their flight to St. Thomas is in a few short hours.

His phone shows two missed calls from Cash the night before plus a text that says, Pick up, bro. It’s urgent.

Baker still has last-minute packing and organizing to do before Ellen comes to take them to the airport. He doesn’t have one spare second to talk to his brother, though he figures Cash must have heard the news: Maia saw Mick kissing Brigid on the beach, Maia told Ayers, and Ayers is going to break off the engagement.

Well, Baker already knows. Ayers texted him right after it happened.

It’s a sign from above; this new chapter in his life is going to work. A tropical island, a nontraditional lifestyle, and, most important, Baker’s relationship with Ayers Wilson. He’s going to win Ayers over or die trying.

“We’re going to miss you like crazy,” Ellen says. They’re curbside at the airport, which is congested with Ubers and taxis and people wheeling their roller bags while talking on their phones, but Ellen insists on getting out so she can give Baker a proper hug goodbye. “Becky is in charge of finding us a new school husband.”

“What?” Baker’s friendship with his school wives is rare and, he thought, special. He never dreamed he’d be replaced.

Ellen shrugs. “She’s the one in HR.”

“Just as long as it’s not Tony,” Baker says.

Ellen grins but her eyes are shining with tears. “I’m only kidding, Bake,” she says. “You know what? We’re already planning a trip to visit you this summer.”

“You are?”

“I’m terrible with surprises,” Ellen says. “Sorry about that. Yes, we’ll see you in a few months.”

“You can stay at the villa, you know,” Baker says. “It has nine bedrooms.”

“You’re sweet to offer, but we wouldn’t do that to your mom and brother,” Ellen says. “I’m going to book rooms at Caneel.”

Baker finds himself getting choked up as he shepherds Floyd into the terminal. His school wives are the only people in Houston he’s going to miss, and he’s touched that they feel the same way, so much so that they’re already planning a trip down. Once they see St. John and Irene’s villa and meet Ayers, they’ll understand why he’s making the move. He’d be a fool not to.

When Baker and Floyd check in with all their luggage, Floyd is carrying his copy of The Dirty Cowboy under one arm, and the woman at the United desk is so taken with him that she bumps them up to first class. “You’re the only child I’ve seen in years who isn’t mesmerized by a screen,” she tells Floyd.

Baker wills his son not to mention the iPad that’s tucked in Baker’s carry-on or the fact that Floyd has watched Despicable Me 3 ten times in the past week.

“Thank you,” Baker says. First class! He’s already dreaming of a Bloody Mary and a decent nap.

Turns out, Baker’s and Floyd’s seats are across the aisle from each other. Is this going to be okay? Sitting next to Floyd is a West Indian woman who is already situated, watching a movie with headphones on. The seat next to Baker is empty. Maybe Baker will ask about switching.

Baker stows his carry-on and Floyd’s backpack but tells Floyd not to buckle up just yet. “I’m going to see if we can switch seats. That way you can sit next to me and have a window.”

“I want a window!” Floyd says.

There’s a guy in a knit cap with a hipster beard getting ready to take the seat next to Baker. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads WASPS OF GOOD FORTUNE—a band, maybe?—and jeans and a Gucci belt and a pair of black Sambas exactly like the ones Baker used to wear to soccer practice when he was nine years old, and on his wrist is a forty-thousand-dollar Rolex Daytona with a light blue pearlescent face. He has AirPods in.

The guy—he looks to be somewhere in his mid-twenties—nods at Baker and goes to lift his duffel into the overhead space.

Baker says, “Hey, man, any chance you would mind switching spots with my son so we can sit together? He’s only four.”

The guy blinks at Baker and says in a broad Australian accent, “Sorry, mate, I prefer the window.”

“No problem, mate,” Baker says. He slides out of the way so that Mr. Samba, Mr. Wasps of Good Fortune, Mr. Young Crocodile Dundee can take his seat. Baker tries not to feel put out. It’s the guy’s seat, Baker has no right to it, but still—who says no when asked to help out a four-year-old child? Baker glances at the woman next to Floyd, but she has fallen asleep.

“Looks like we’re staying put, buddy,” Baker says, and he fastens Floyd’s seat belt.

“Daddy?” Floyd says. “May I please have the iPad?”

Baker doesn’t speak to Young Croc during the flight, though he does keep tabs on him out of the corner of his eye. Young Croc orders Maker’s Mark straight up (two) to Baker’s Bloody Mary (one). Young Croc watches Deadpool 2 (no surprise there); Baker chooses old episodes of The Office. Young Croc declines breakfast; Baker inhales the kale and sausage omelet, the soggy home fries, and even the sad, wrinkled cherry tomatoes. Young Croc does the sudoku puzzle in the in-flight magazine astonishingly quickly, which actually makes Baker like him a little better. He doesn’t get up for the bathroom at all, whereas Baker gets up once for himself and twice for Floyd.

As the plane descends, Young Croc finally turns his attention to the window, tapping on the glass with his forefinger in apparent anticipation. And isn’t that an emotion he and Baker share?

When the plane’s wheels hit the runway, people sitting in coach clap and cheer. Baker checks on Floyd, who is fast asleep, then turns to Young Croc. “You going to St. Thomas?” he asks. “Or St. John?”

“St. John.”

“Us too,” Baker says. “We’re moving down for good.”

“Oh yeah?” Young Croc says. “You running a business down here? Doing the EDC deal?”

“EDC?” Baker says.