Mornings belong to the sunroom. Light filters through the greenery outside, coffee steams, and the canyon does not make a sound. By midday the estate becomes a choose-your-own afternoon: doubles on the tennis court, weights and a sauna session, a slow game of billiards for the gloriously unathletic. We could picture a monthlong tournament ladder forming by the second week, complete with disputed line calls. Golden hour pulls the group to the barbecue and the pool, where dinner cooks while the canyon light goes amber and nobody checks a phone, partly by choice and partly because the reception up here never begs for attention. At night the house deals its best cards: the theater for the crowd, the bar and wine cellar for the lingerers, and upstairs a master suite with a sitting area generous enough to feel like its own apartment. We found ourselves thinking of it less as a house than as a small resort that happens to sleep your whole family, with the court lights burning long after the sensible people have gone to bed.