Chapter Three

“Do you think it’s too early? For me to start dating?”

Della was standing at the large window in Dr. Sanchez’s office, which overlooked the Capitol building in central Denver. The sun blazed outside despite the mercury barely making it above the freezing point, and she basked in the warmth radiating from the glass. Once upon a time, Della had dreaded her sessions with her psychiatrist, but not anymore. She’d long ago recognized the good they were doing, and, even a few years down the track, her sessions still felt like a necessary part of her life.

“I think only you can know that.”

Della turned to face her therapist, resting her butt against the glass, the sun warming her back now. Selena Sanchez was calm and lovely as always, her smile encouraging. The red of her blouse complemented her bronzed skin and the sleekness of her dark hair which, two years shy of forty, was showing no signs of any gray.

“Come on, Selena. Don’t psychobabble me. I’m asking you what you think.”

“Okay…are you going on Tinder to date or to find a husband?”

“God no.” Della shook her head vehemently. “Not to find a husband.” Who knew how many years of therapy she’d need to get that far. “Just to…have some fun.”

“Do you mean sex?”

“Well…yeah. I mean, not necessarily a minute after meeting someone, but yeah, I’d like to start exploring that part of my life. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Selena smiled. “Of course. You’ve done a lot of hard work, and this past year I’ve watched you really come out of your shell. I think you’re a young woman with wants and needs and desires the same as any other young woman, and it’s encouraging that you’re wanting to experience them again.”

“You told me I would.” Selena had assured her in the beginning that she would feel sexual again, even though she hadn’t cared at the time—had shrunk from it, even. But somewhere deep inside, Della had also clung to that promise of normality. “You’re annoyingly right about things.”

Selena’s smile was self-deprecating. “It doesn’t mean there won’t be challenges. There could be flashbacks, palpitations, anxiety attacks. The important thing is you take this slowly.”

“You think Tinder is rushing it?”

“I think Tinder, or any other online platform, is a place where people often misrepresent themselves, and you should be cautious.”

“Arlo’s worried.”

Selena laughed. “Color me surprised.”

Arlo had sat in on many a therapy session in the beginning. At Della’s insistence. Therapy had terrified her, and he’d been the oil lubricating the process for a long time. “You think he’s too protective of me?”

“I think Arlo has been exactly what you needed him to be and he will continue to adapt to what you need from him. It might just”—she smiled—“take him a little while to adjust.”

Nodding, Della pushed away from the window and wandered back to the low tub chair placed opposite Selena. “There’s an eighty-year-old woman at the old folks’ home who has a vibrator.” She sat down. “She’s a widow.”

“Good for her,” Selena murmured.

“It was…unexpected.”

“Being sexual doesn’t stop because of age or death of a spouse.”

“I know, I guess I just…didn’t think there were women in aged-care facilities with more exciting sex lives than me.”

“Ah.” Selena nodded. “I see.”

“Do you?” Because Della sure as hell didn’t.

“Your body’s going through this reawakening. This burgeoning of sexual interest, and you’re feeling things, and you’re curious. That’s perfectly understandable. Have you ever used a vibrator?”

“No.” Todd would have been horrified at the mere suggestion. Sure, sex in the beginning had been pleasant enough, but her pleasure had never been a priority, and after the miscarriage…well, sex had been a battlefield.

“I know you never achieved an orgasm with your husband, but what about masturbation?”

Della had long ago surpassed any embarrassment at such intimate subject matter. Selena knew every degrading detail of her marriage to Todd in-depth. There were no taboo questions or answers in this office. She gave a half laugh, half snort. “No.”

“I mean before Todd.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I met him when I was seventeen. A very sheltered seventeen. I knew guys did it, but I had no idea women could…did…masturbate until I started reading Winona’s novels.”

Winona Crane was an erotic romance author who had moved to Credence with the initial influx of women last summer and had stayed on, much to the delight and scandal of residents. She was building a house out by the lake and had gifted one of her books to Della about three months ago. It had been shockingly educational, and Della had been glomming her backlist.

“And you haven’t tried since reading Winona’s stories?”

Della shook her head. “No.”

Why hadn’t she? She’d wanted to…but something had stopped her. She’d made great strides in breaking the mental chains Todd had shackled her with, but sometimes she could still feel the cold bite of steel around her wrists.

“Maybe you should start there?” Selena suggested gently. “You have as much right as the next person to enjoy your body. And you should be getting to know it, what you like, what works for you. Experiment a bit. Masturbate. Get a vibrator. Then, if and when you’re ready to take dating to another level, you’ll know what to ask for.”

The fact that she could ask for stuff—that a man actually existed out there who would take her needs into consideration—was frankly mind-blowing. Even in the beginning, Todd had been in charge, and she hadn’t known any better. She’d been a virgin with a stiflingly strict father and a mother who had died three days after Della’s twelfth birthday.

“That sounds…like it could be fun.”

Selena smiled knowingly. “Maybe think about purchasing any mechanical aids online.”

Della frowned. She’d been thinking of going to Frieda’s. Mostly because she was curious but also because she’d hate for Arlo to accidentally open up a package and find a vibrator. “Not a sex shop? There’s one about an hour out of town on the interstate.”

“You can go into a sex shop, of course,” Selena said. “But…you need to be prepared to see some things in there that could be triggering. There’ll be restraints. Things like handcuffs. They’ll mostly be the pink fluffy variety, but there could also be the real deal. There might be ropes and chains. That kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

Della absently rubbed at the faint scar on her right wrist. She hadn’t thought about that possibility. It’d been well over a year since anything physical had triggered Della. She’d stopped flinching when people touched her or quaking if someone stepped a little close. The dark, however, still held way too much power over her.

“At least online you can curate your search.”

“Thank you.” Della nodded, grateful for the heads-up. “I wouldn’t have been prepared for that.”

“You shouldn’t let it put you off going to one, though. It can be a fun experience. Just maybe take someone else with you. Not your brother.”

Della laughed and then winced internally at how she’d asked Tucker to take her to Frieda’s. Sweet baby Jesus. What had she been thinking? The man had looked like he wanted to leap from the moving car, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d been so caught up in her sudden, desperate curiosity, she’d forgotten that Tucker was not only a man but a friend of her brother’s.

She was so used to him being there on the other side of the bar that she’d grown accustomed to his silent, nonjudgmental company. On a superficial level, he’d become a neutral kind of sounding board. A friend. No agenda. Hell, no gender. Just someone who always had her back. Who was firmly team Della.

Unfortunately, on a very deep, very personal level—he was all man. Something she’d forgotten when she’d asked him to take her into a sex shop…this man she had the hots for who did not reciprocate. Whose most risqué act so far had been to fix her a third piña colada.

Way to go, Della.

“A girlfriend,” Selena continued, ignorant to her client’s internal flagellation, “or two. That way you can all have a laugh together and there’ll be people who you know and trust if things get on top of you.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Della reined in her errant thoughts. “Maybe I’ll do just that. One day. When I’m feeling brave enough.”

“Of course. At your own pace. Always. Now…have you thought about what you’re going to say to Cody tonight?”

Della was nervous as she sat at the table, waiting for her date to arrive. He was now officially late. The topics of conversation she’d discussed with Selena circled one another in her head, and she fiddled with the button that fastened at the dip of her cleavage. The neckline had seemed perfectly modest when she’d bought the dress on a whim from T.J. Maxx today —just the merest hint of boob shadow showing—but then Tucker had frowned at her when she’d come out of the bedroom she always used when she stayed at the Denver apartment and she wasn’t so sure anymore.

“It’s all wrong, isn’t it?” she’d asked, and he’d shaken his head and told her she looked nice.

Nice.

Such a bland freaking word. Okay, she hadn’t been going for vixen, but she’d taken some time with her appearance. She’d left her hair loose instead of pulled back into a braid, and she’d even put on mascara and some shiny pink lip gloss—also T.J. Maxx purchases. She’d been shooting for attractive—lovely, maybe? She’d known beautiful was out of the ballpark. Her father had always called her a plain child because her features were too square to be cute or pretty, but surely lovely wasn’t that much of a stretch?

Laughter nearby snagged her attention, and Della turned toward the sound. There were four women at the bar, drinking cocktails. They were about her age and all wearing strappy short dresses that clung to and flattered their amazing bodies.

Like it wasn’t thirty-nine degrees outside.

She glanced down at her dress. It was the snuggest thing she’d ever worn, but with a three-quarter sleeve and a hem that sat just below her knee, she felt positively dowdy.

Cody would probably take one look at her and one look at them and head straight for the bar.

Checking the time on her phone, she noted he was now five minutes late. Maybe he’d already spotted her and decided not to bother at all? That would be particularly humiliating…

Della glanced through the window and across the road at the bar where she knew Tucker was waiting. He’d offered to stick close when she’d announced she wasn’t sure anymore and maybe she should cancel—about ten seconds after he’d told her she looked nice.

“You should go,” he’d insisted and then outlined a plan for him to wait for her somewhere nearby, which she’d agreed to readily. When they’d parted company twenty minutes ago, he’d said, “Remember, if it doesn’t work, if you’re getting a bad vibe off him, or if he’s a jerk or makes you feel uncomfortable, then just get up and walk across the road.”

And right now, she was seriously considering his offer.

“Della?”

Her pulse leaped at her name, and she turned to find Cody smiling at her. Granted, he was a slightly shorter version of the Cody she was expecting, but it was definitely him, and he held out his hand politely. She stood, and they shook. Yeah…no way was he six foot two. She was five foot nine in her two-inch boot heels, and their heights right now were dead even.

Not that Della gave a flying fig about his height, but…what else had he lied about?

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized as he took the seat opposite. “Traffic was awful.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him with a smile as she took her seat, but he was already looking past her, seeking out a waiter.

“I could murder a beer,” he said as he waved his hand, then snapped his fingers to get the attention of the closest waitstaff.

Della blinked. Oh dear.

“Yes, sir?” The waitress slid a brief glance at Della before fixing a smile to her face and turning her attention to Cody. “Can I help you?”

“Sure can, darlin’.” He gave her an exaggerated wink.

Oh dear, oh dear. The waitress was going to spit in his food.

“I’ll get a Bud, and keep ’em coming. And—” He flashed Della what she could only assume was his best hey-baby smile. “The little lady would like?”

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

The waitress raised an eyebrow at her that had nothing to do with her choice of drink and everything to do with her choice of man. An eyebrow that clearly said, This guy? Oh, honey, please.

Selena had counseled Della to stick to nonalcoholic drinks tonight, but one wouldn’t hurt, surely? “I’ll get a piña colada, please.”

“Alrighty.” Cody slapped the table. “Now you’re talking.”

The waitress glanced at him, then back at Della. “Double shot?”

“Yes please.”

Cody’s gaze stuck like glue to the waitress’s ass as she walked away, and Della wondered if it was too late to order a vat of piña colada.

When he finally returned his attention to Della, he said, “You’re looking pretty tonight.”

Of all the things he could have said right now, Cody hit the jackpot. He may have been utterly unimpressive to this point, but Della’s ego succumbed to the stroking regardless. Take that, Tucker Daniels.

Della touched her hair. “Thank you. You’re looking very handsome.”

And he was. Shorter, for sure, but handsome nonetheless. He’d obviously also made an effort. He was dressed in expensive-looking jeans and a button-down shirt, cleanly shaven, and he smelled nice. They were all plusses. Selena had said to weigh up the plusses and minuses.

“I prefer hot,” he said with another over-the-top wink.

Oh crap. Minus. Big fat minus.

The waitress brought his beer and set it down on the table. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said, and she shot him a painfully polite smile before turning to Della.

“Your piña colada will be here soon.”

Once again, Cody checked out the waitress’s butt as she retreated, finally dragging his eyes away to take a swig of his beer. “So what have you been up to today?” he asked.

Della toyed with the idea of telling him she’d been to see her shrink of three years, where they’d workshopped this date, but ruthlessly quashed the urge. Why would she sabotage things already? Cody thought she was pretty, damn it, and maybe he was just nervous? Maybe he was just acting out thinking she’d be impressed or something?

She opened her mouth to tell him that she’d walked into the DMV today and got herself a booklet so she could get her driver’s license, but it appeared he wasn’t actually interested in her answer as he jumped straight into a ten-minute monologue on his day.

Woken by a phone call from his mom—who really needed to be on Prozac—at nine thirty. His four-hour Fortnite sesh with his gaming buds—who’d all be dead without him. His visit to his grandmother—who was losing her marbles—in the assisted-care facility.

Her piña colada arriving one minute into the conversation was its only saving grace.

“I don’t know how you stand to work with old people.” Cody started on his second beer. “I’d be bored out of my brains.”

Della blinked. Because fixing potholes was such stimulating work?

“I love it,” she said, trying not to sound defensive, although she had no idea why, because screw him and his judgment. “Sometimes they squabble like a bunch of first graders, and it can be a bit like herding cats, but I’ve never laughed more or felt more love in my life than when I’m at work.”

Which probably said more about her life than anything else, but it was true. Spending time with the old folks of Credence had been good therapy.

“Well…better you than me.”

He lifted his bottle to her in salute before drinking half of it down. The waitress approached to take their order, but he waved her away. Della’s stomach growled in protest, not that Cody heard, because he’d moved on to a play-by-play commentary on the Super Bowl and how the Broncos had been robbed in the playoffs, which led to questions about Wade Carter and if she’d ever met Credence’s hometown hero.

Della declined to mention that she’d been at Wade and CC’s wedding. Or that they were expecting their first baby later this year.

“What say,” Cody suggested, placing his empty beer down and laying his smoothest smile on her, “you and I blow this popsicle stand? My apartment’s ten minutes away.”

And there it was. Two beers, no food, a hey-baby smile, and a wanna come back to my place? Della placed her half-finished cocktail on the table. “So you do just want to hook up?” she asked, her voice a lot calmer than she felt.

She’d joined Tinder to meet men and, yes, potentially indulge in some sexy times, but this was way faster than she’d expected.

“Oh no. No.” Cody somehow managed to master offended and reassuring all in one look. He was really good at it. “I don’t mean that. I mean…it’s just more private there. Less noisy. Unless…” He stroked a finger across her knuckles. Goose bumps pricked along Della’s scalp—not the sexy type—and she withdrew her hand. “We can if you want.”

This time, he conveyed both restraint and eagerness. Man, she had no idea why he was fixing potholes on the streets of Denver when he should be in Hollywood accepting his Oscar.

Della reached for her bag and pushed to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Cody stood. His brow wrinkled. “Della? Come on, it’s okay.” He placed his hand on her arm. It was light, and Della didn’t feel threatened, but she didn’t like it, either, and shook it off. “We can stay and eat. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

Maybe he didn’t. But she did. There was no point continuing when it was obvious Cody had been lying from the beginning. And not just about his height. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m what you really want.”

He certainly wasn’t what she wanted. Depressingly, that guy was in a bar across the street. And he didn’t want her either.

Tucker turned back from the basketball on the wall-mounted television to see Della walking across the street. He was sitting at one of the long, high tables that faced the street, the big windows giving him the perfect view of the restaurant opposite. He checked the time—half an hour.

That didn’t bode well.

She was bundled up in her jacket, but he knew exactly what she looked like underneath those layers. He’d thought of little else since she’d emerged from the bedroom in that dress that shimmied around her just right. Not to mention her swishy hair and her shiny lips and those cowgirl boots with the scalloped tops playing peek-a-boo with her calves Those lips and boots were distracting in ways a guy should not be thinking about when it came to his friend’s sister.

Tucker waved at her as she entered the bar. Spotting him, she shrugged out of her coat. Heads turned. She didn’t notice, but he did as his pulse thudded thick and slow through his ears.

“What happened?” he asked, sliding off his chair as she drew to a halt next to him.

She shrugged. “He wanted to move a little too fast for me.”

Tucker ground his teeth. Douchebag. “Are you okay?” She seemed okay. Her eyes weren’t red or puffy. She didn’t appear to be angry. “He didn’t… He wasn’t…”

“I’m fine.”

Maybe she was, but it was almost overwhelming how much he wanted to pull her into his arms and hug her right now. She’d been excited about this date, and Cody-the-cockhead had ruined this seminal moment. Tucker shoved his hands on his hips instead.

“You want me to kick his ass?”

That earned him an eye roll. “I’m fine,” she repeated.

“You want to sit? Or you wanna go back to Wade’s?” Tucker didn’t know how to handle this. He’d been braced for tears and confusion when he’d spotted her walking across the street, not stoic acceptance.

“Sit.” She hung her bag and coat off the back of the high stool next to his. “Are you eating these?” She reached for the three cold curly fries he’d left uneaten twenty minutes ago. “I’m starving.”

“You vamoosed before your dinner came?”

She shoved a stone-cold fry into her mouth. “We didn’t order dinner. Cody seemed happy with beer.”

Tucker grimaced. “I’ll get you some more. You want a drink?”

“Sure,” she said around her mouthful. “I didn’t get to finish my piña colada.”

As he made his way to the bar, Tucker was relieved to have something to take his mind off that ass kicking he was desperate to deliver. Thankfully, by the time he got back to Della, his temper had cooled.

“Here.” He placed the frothy concoction in her hand. “Drink up. Fries and cheesy garlic bread arriving soon.”

“Mmm.” She shut her eyes as she sucked on her straw. “Cheesy garlic bread. My favorite.”

Yeah. He took a pull of his beer. Arlo had told him she liked it when she’d first come to town, and Tucker had put it on the bar menu.

“Thank you.” She turned her eyes on him, the mascara on her lashes making them seem bigger and bluer.

Tucker’s heartbeat got loud in his ears again. “It’s just cheesy garlic bread.”

“Not for that. For not saying I told you so.”

“Well…” Tucker shrugged. “No one likes a smartass.”

She grinned and picked up her glass as if to toast him. “I’ll drink to that.” And they clinked.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” She crossed her eyes at him a little and laughed. A slice of her hair fell forward, and she absently pushed it back over her shoulder. “Don’t I look okay?”

Oh man…she looked more than okay. But that was not what she’d meant. “You do, I just…”

She nudged him with her shoulder when he didn’t finish the sentence. “What?”

“You had such high hopes for the date, and I thought you’d…I don’t know…be upset if it didn’t meet your expectations.”

“Did you think I was going to come over here and cry in your beer?” she teased.

Tucker’s heart skipped a beat at the sparkle dancing in her eyes, and he gave her a rueful smile. “Maybe.”

“No.” She shook her head, turning back to her drink. “I’ve cried more than enough the past three years. Hell, the last seven years. I’m done with that.” She glanced at him again, the straw still in her mouth. “I’m not going to break, Tuck. I may have come across that way in the past, but I’m stronger now.”

Tuck. He wished he didn’t like the way she called him that so much. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Their eyes locked and held, and the general hubbub around them faded for long seconds until the waiter interrupted with her food. “Mmm.” Della lowered her face toward the steam rising off the piping-hot curly fries and inhaled. “Salty, oily goodness.”

She picked one up, blew on it, then popped it in her mouth before pushing the basket toward him. Next she reached for a piece of garlic bread, pulling it away from the other three slices and smiling as two long strings of melted cheese followed. She took a massive bite, then shut her eyes as she let out a hearty moan.

Watching a woman scarf down garlic bread like it was her first meal in a month should not be sexy. Except, fucking hell, it was. The gleam of oil on her lips made them even shinier as they closed around the bread, and that sound of appreciation…

It was practically pornographic.

But also, remembering all those times he’d watched her pick at her food, it was satisfying in a very non-pornographic way. He pushed the basket of fries back in her direction. “Don’t let these get cold.”

They didn’t really talk for the next ten minutes. She ate, and he drank his beer, watching the basketball game reflected in the window. “So,” she finally said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin as she fished around in her bag and pulled out her phone. She swiped the screen a couple of times. “Who else looks good, do you think? Guy with his dog who just wants to be the big spoon?”

Tucker blinked as her thumb swiped left a few times. “You want to keep going?”

She glanced at him, surprised. “Of course. I’m in Denver every two weeks. Why not?”

He stared at her for several beats. After tonight’s disaster, he’d have thought she’d delete that fucking app ASAP, but she just kept on surprising him. He liked that about her. She’d been down for a while, but her determination to reclaim her life was admirable.

“Because,” Tucker said, dragging his head back in the conversation. “There might be more Codys?”

Della shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not giving up after one non-date.” She went back to swiping. “There’s a guy wearing a traffic cone on his head who describes himself as a space gypsy?” More swiping. “Or bathroom-selfie guy whose carpet apparently matches the drapes.”

Tucker almost choked on his beer. What the hell?

“Oooh.” She sat up high and looked around the bar. “Says he’s under a mile away…he could be in here.”

“Ohh-kay. Nope.” Tucker snatched the phone out of her hand. “No bathroom-selfie dudes.”

“What’s wrong with a bathroom selfie?”

He glanced at her. “You want a guy who’s going to be looking at you or himself?”

She nodded slowly. “Good point.”

Tucker returned his attention to the phone. “No guys wearing traffic cones or big spoons. Jesus. Have all dudes in their twenties had lobotomies?”

“I don’t think they’ve ever been subjected to Arlo’s the perils of social media class.”

Tucker laughed as he swiped left and left and left on so many dickheads. “They all failed if they did.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning in close to peer over his shoulder.

“Trying to find someone who isn’t an idiot among this lot.”

“But how can you tell? I mean, sure, there are some obvious hard passes, but most of them present well.”

Tucker snorted. “I’m a guy. Trust me, I speak fluent idiot. Like this one?” He stopped at Trent, who was twenty-four, wearing a suit, and holding a red SOLO cup.

“Games champion, freelancer, runner,” she read.

“Which means he wins at beer pong, is unemployed, and doesn’t have his own car.”

She laughed, and for a second her forehead pressed into his biceps, and he could smell cupcakes again, and Tucker’s brain temporarily shorted out.

“Okay, then fine. You’re right. I need help. Congratulations. You’re now my official Tinder wingman.”

His brain kicked back into gear. “Wait. What?” He shook his head. “No.”

“Yes. You said it yourself. You speak fluent idiot. You can help me navigate this whole confusing maze.” She laid her hand on his arm and said, “Please, Tuck?”

Crap. A sudden flare of heat bloomed behind his sternum. He never had been able to say no to Della. Tucker was doomed.

“Fine.” He sighed. She needed his help, and he did speak guy.

She did a little seat jig and clapped her hands together. “Also, I need to ask another favor.” She dug around in her bag and handed over the booklet from the DMV. “Can you teach me to drive?”

Tucker looked at the offering. It made sense that Della 2.0 would want her own wheels. But him and her and cupcake in the close confines of his truck? Christ. He glanced up from the booklet. “I think Arlo might want to do that.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “And would you like to be taught by Arlo?”

Tucker grimaced. He would rather shove a stick shift in his eye. Arlo would be thorough and methodical but also strict to the point of terrifying, and God help anyone who didn’t have their hands at ten and two on the wheel at all times.

“There are no driving schools in Credence, and I can ask Winona, but I know she’s behind on a book deadline. Drew would help, but I’m not sure I want to take lessons in a hearse, and, well…Jack’s doesn’t open until ten, right? So I was thinking maybe we could go out in the mornings for a few weeks when it fits in with your schedule?”

She deliberately batted her eyes at him, a smile playing on her mouth, her hands clasped together as if she was praying. “Please? I promise to be very attentive and follow your instructions to the letter.”

Ordinarily, Tucker would have some quick flirty reply to a woman promising him those kinds of things, but Della hadn’t meant it that way. He’d worked hard to keep their friendship a neutral space. He wasn’t going to fuck that up now.

“Yeah, okay.”

Him and her in his pickup. Alone. In cupcake hell. What could possibly go wrong?