“No, I can get it.”

“No, no, no. It’s fine. Really.”

She shrugged, accepted the coffee, and took a sip. “Strong,” she said.

“Too strong?” the other woman asked.

“A little bit,” my wife answered.

Oh boy. Here we go. The first day of the rest of our eternity known as a vacation with friends.

But a weird thing happened. My friend poured sweet, thick cream and brown sugar into the coffee and suddenly it was transformed from sludge to a heavenly coffee ambrosia.

Over the next few days, we threw ourselves against the ocean’s waves, swam in our private pool, and, after hiring a driver, took trips all over the area. We fell into a groove, sometimes doing things together, sometimes apart. I even got to flit.

My wife and I slept later than the rest because our room really was more private. And we came to love the house. We got to know our neighbors, natives and year-round residents, which is rare even at home, let alone on vacation. I was happy we didn’t end up at the artsy cottage after all.

Perhaps most remarkable of all, we not only got along, we liked each other throughout our stay. Being together was easy and effortless and, dare I say, magical.

Traveling with friends? Unquestionably, it can be stressful. But it can also end up so well, you actually kind of take a shine to being called Jimbo.