Chapter Five

Ten days later, Della was excited to be, once again, heading to Denver. It was a gorgeous Friday morning—March had brought some spectacular weather, and she felt as if she could conquer the world. And not just because of her date tonight, but because she was sitting in the driver’s seat.

She was driving into Denver.

Better still, Tucker had made the suggestion. He’d told her she was doing well and that she was ready for her next challenge—city driving.

“How long do you think I’m going to need before I can go for my full license?” she asked as they passed by Frieda’s. The embarrassment from their conversation last time they’d passed by was surprisingly fresh, and she was desperate to ignore the store’s presence this time around.

As much as a giant rotating condom could be ignored.

“Let’s see how you’re feeling about your skills when we next come to Denver. You’ve got a lesson booked this afternoon and another in the morning, which is great, but I think we should do some night driving at some point. And it’d be good if you could go out in the rain as well at least once. See how different it is to drive in slippery conditions and poor visibility. There’s some forecast for next week.”

Della nodded, noting with relief Frieda’s giant Trojan getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “You think I could maybe take the practical test in two weeks’ time?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought you’d make me wait longer.” She’d thought Arlo would be in his ear about her taking it slow.

He shrugged. “You’re a good driver. Careful and considerate of other road users. That’s better than about seventy-five percent of drivers out there.”

“Really?” She grinned. “I’m a good driver?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

Too late. Della beamed at him, and even though he wasn’t looking at her, he said, “Eyes front.”

Della returned her attention to the road, suppressing the urge to bounce in her seat. The sense of freedom she felt behind this wheel was infectious. “Will you help me choose a car?”

“I think maybe Arlo might like to help you with that.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Della conceded Tucker’s point. “Good idea.” Arlo would be thrilled to be asked, and no one was going to sell a lemon to the sister of a police chief.

They chatted about car types for a while, Della picking Tucker’s brain about every make and model on the market, naturally assuming he’d just know this information. Car talk turned to map talk, which turned to travel talk, and before she knew it she was telling Tucker about the book she was currently reading on London.

The traffic got heavier as they approached the outskirts of Denver, and their chatter fell away as Della gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “Oh boy,” she muttered under her breath as they came to their first traffic light.

“It’s fine.” Tucker shot her a smile. “You’re doing fine. The same road rules apply here as they do everywhere else.”

She nodded, trying to quell the surge of her pulse as it rattled through her temples.

“Relax.” He reached across and gave her arm a squeeze. “Take a breath.”

His hand fell away immediately, but his touch was like a match to a fuse, sparks traveling up her arm and igniting along every nerve cell in her body. Tucker rarely touched her. In fact, it was fair to say that he went out of his way not to touch her. She guessed that was because he didn’t want to do anything that might be a trigger.

But, thanks to familiarity and therapy, his touch wasn’t triggering. It was…electric.

A horn blasting dragged her out of her stupor. “Ignore him,” Tucker instructed. “Go at your own pace. Don’t let some douchebag pressure you into something before you’re ready.” Their gazes locked. “Always go at your own pace.”

Della didn’t think they were talking about driving now, but, with a second indignant horn blast, she eased off the clutch.

High on a great session with Selena and a driving lesson with a professional instructor, which she’d aced, Della was looking forward to her date. The one her wingman had helped her with by whittling down the losers, time wasters, and horndogs.

Tucker’s words.

She was sitting at the same Italian restaurant as last time because she knew it and the menu had looked excellent. Hopefully this time she’d actually find out if the food tasted as good as it smelled. Her date tonight was a guy called Bailey. He was also twenty-five, a trainee paramedic, a conscientious teeth flosser, and had three sisters.

According to Tucker, paramedic and flosser was a winning combo. Add in the sisters, and Bailey was kicking all kinds of goals. Plus, he had normal photos—no bathroom selfies, no boozy shots, no pictures of his car. And he’d been great to chat with the past week. Interesting and easygoing. He loved to cook, and his Instagram feed was full of his culinary creations, of which Tucker had enthusiastically approved, announcing he’d go out with Bailey.

“Della?”

Dragging her attention from the window and the guy sitting across the street, Della turned to find Bailey at the table. He was exactly as his pictures had proclaimed—not shorter—with fresh-faced looks and an open smile. She smiled as she stood to shake his hand. “Hi, Bailey. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And you,” he said warmly, holding her hand for just the right amount of time. “You look great.”

“Thank you.”

Della glanced down at her attire as she sat. She was wearing the nice outfit again because, despite Tucker’s lukewarm response to it—which had continued tonight—she hadn’t seen the point in splurging on new clothes when Bailey hadn’t seen these. She had savings, but now that she was buying a car, she couldn’t fritter them away on a new outfit every time she went on a date.

And she liked the dress, so Tucker and his nice could go jump in the lake.

“What’s good here?” Bailey asked as he, too, sat and reached for a menu.

The night was a success. Bailey was a great conversationalist and an interesting human being. He spoke lovingly of his sisters and shared some funny anecdotes from being on the road as a paramedic. And when the prescribed two hours was up—something Tucker had suggested she put in place with Bailey prior to meeting him to signify that, for tonight, she was interested in a date only—and Della announced she was leaving, he didn’t try to detain her. He thanked her for a lovely evening and asked if they could go out to dinner again the next time she was in Denver.

Della had said yes because he ticked all the right boxes. Okay, there was zero spark when she looked at him. No thrilling little tug. But falling recklessly in love had been the ruin of her last time, so maybe there was something to be said for a slow burn?

A soccer game being played somewhere in Europe was on the wall-mounted televisions as Della entered the bar across the street. The low murmur of conversation and the smell of beer and curly fries greeted her as she headed toward Tucker, who was in the same spot as last time. He glanced at her and smiled, and the tug she felt was like a thousand vacuum cleaners sucking her in his direction.

Those big-ass industrial ones.

“Hey,” Tucker said as he pulled out the chair next to him.

Della shed her coat and bag, slinging them over the back of the chair. “Hey.”

The lighting near the window was subdued, falling softly over Tucker’s features, hugging the breadth of his shoulders and the width of his chest to perfection. The lights reflecting in from the street gave his whiskey eyes a mellow kind of glow. He was in his regulation clothes—Levi’s, T-shirt, and boots. The kind of gear she saw him in every single day, but he wore casual better than any man she’d ever met.

It was like God had made denim and cotton for Tucker Daniels alone.

“Two hours,” he murmured. “I’m assuming you don’t want any food this time?”

Della gave a half smile. “No.”

“You want a drink?”

“No.”

What Della wanted was to reach across and run her fingers along the scruff at his jawline and down his throat. Hell, she wanted to press her lips there and feel the spikiness of his whiskers, the thud of his pulse. She folded her hands in her lap.

“So?” His voice rumbled out from his just-parted lips. “Verdict?”

“It was good. Bailey’s…nice.”

“Nice is good.”

Yes. Nice was good. Nice was a far cry from her ex. What wasn’t nice was how much she wanted to kiss Tucker’s barely moving lips. “Like my dress.”

Tucker blinked at her reply, obviously surprised. As was she. She certainly hadn’t planned on letting that slip out.

“Umm…yes?”

She suppressed the urge to laugh at his clearly bewildered response. She could see the cogs in his brain turning, trying to figure out if he’d done something wrong.

“It is nice,” he reiterated.

Great. “Okay.”

More confusion crinkled his brow. “What?”

Della blew out a breath. Did she have to spell it out? “Nice is just about the blandest word in the dictionary, Tucker. It’s not the greatest compliment you can give a woman, you know? You might as well have said whatever.”

“Hang on, no. I didn’t mean that…”

“It’s fine, Tuck,” she dismissed irritably as he trailed off. “I look nice. Whatever.”

“No.” He shifted in his chair, half turning to face her. “You looked…you look…” He ran his eyes over her, and every skin cell sizzled beneath the hot sweep of his gaze. “Awesome.”

Della folded her arms. “Awesome?”

He tried again. “Cute? And…sweet?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Cute and sweet?” For the love of all that was holy… “Like a litter of kittens?”

Tucker rubbed his forehead. “Jesus, Della, what do you want from me?”

“What I need is a confidence boost. Something a bit more effusive than nice. Something that makes me feel like I might actually be attractive instead of just mildly interesting.”

He picked up his bottle of beer, which was half full, and took three long swallows.

Della laughed at his obvious desire to not be part of this conversation. “Wow, really? Am I that terrible to look at?”

He thunked his bottle down. “Goddamn it, Della.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blasting her with a glare. “Don’t do that. Don’t put yourself down like that.”

She glared back. “Because you’re doing it so well?”

Now she needed a drink. Grabbing his beer, she tipped her head back and drank it all down.

“Fine,” he huffed. “You want a word, how about sexy?”

Della almost snorted. Sure. “It doesn’t count if I’ve had to drag it out of you.”

“Yeah well, too bad, because you in this dress is just about the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen. The fabric is like liquid moving around your body. It flutters around your knees and flows around your ass, and that dip at your cleavage shows nothing but waves a giant red flag anyway. And yes, the color makes your eyes an even more incredible blue. And with your hair down like that and your lips all shiny, I—”

Della blinked as his speech came to an abrupt stop and he looked out the window. She really, really wished he hadn’t stopped. “You what?” He’d been about to say something else, damn it. When he didn’t respond, Della pushed. “You what, Tucker?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

It did matter, but she let it go. “Is that true?”

“What?”

“What you just said?” She inspected his profile. “The…sexy stuff.”

He turned his head, his eyes locking with hers. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say that the first time?”

“Jesus, Della…” He broke their gaze to stare out the window. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“What? The kind of relationship where I ask for your honest opinion and expect you to give it to me? I thought that was exactly the kind of relationship we had.”

“The kind of relationship that involves me saying the word sexy to you.”

Oh for the love of…“Because of Arlo?”

“Yes.” He shot her a hot glare before he huffed out a breath. “No. Because I’m your friend and eleven years older than you, and it feels…I don’t know…weird and wrong. And…” He returned his attention to the window. “Dirty. And not the good kind.”

Della pressed her lips together to stifle the laugh building in her throat. Poor Tucker. Trying to walk a line between his role of best friend to Arlo and wingman to her and not rock any boats.

“There’s a good kind of dirty?” she asked with faux innocence.

Startled, he glanced at her, clearly alarmed that he’d given away some kind of secret, and Della burst out laughing. His expression changed to withering. “Very funny,” he said.

“Relax. I’ve read Winona’s books.” Obviously, that information was not reassuring, and Della laughed again. “They’ve been very informative.”

“Excellent. That’s…great.”

“You have no idea. I wish I’d been reading them in high school.” No way in hell would her father have allowed pornography in his house. Even though it wasn’t. The sex was graphic, but the stories were great. “I might have had higher expectations.”

An awkward silence followed, Tucker clearly uncomfortable. Anybody would think Della was trying to discuss the merits of different tampon brands. It was no surprise when he changed the subject. “So…is there going to be another date?”

Della took pity on him and followed his lead. “Yes. Next time I’m in Denver.”

“Okay, good.” He nodded, obviously pleased to be on firmer guy ground. “But you should also line up another date—maybe even a couple. Make the most of your Denver trips.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. Why not multitask?” He shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta kiss a lot of frogs, et cetera, et cetera.”

Which is what she hadn’t done. Todd had been her first kiss. Her first everything. “You think I should be kissing these guys on the first date?” Damn it, she wished this stuff came to her naturally.

Tucker glanced out the window again, his ass shifting on the chair. Aaaand they were back to awkward. He cleared his throat. “That was just…metaphorical.”

“So, I shouldn’t,” she pressed. “Kiss them?” She’d only ever kissed one man, and she wanted to do something about that. She just wasn’t sure she could go for it after only a couple of hours.

“I think that—” Tucker cleared his throat. “That…kissing is part of dating. It’s fun and natural as long as it’s safe and—”

“Oh God,” Della interrupted. He sounded like her eighth-grade sex-ed teacher. “Please tell me you’re not going to mention special cuddles next.”

“Do you think I could just get through this? It’s not exactly easy talking about this stuff with you.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“My point is,” he continued, “if you’re comfortable taking it to that level, then sure. Just don’t let anyone rush you on to the next level. Too many people skip over the kissing stage, which is a shame because there’s a lot to be learned from just making out.”

“Like whether they’re good at it or not?”

Della bet Tucker was excellent at making out. She didn’t mean to look at his mouth, but her gaze dropped there anyway. Luckily, he chose that moment to wave at a passing waiter, holding up his empty bottle to indicate he’d have another.

“Well, yes,” he agreed when he returned his attention to Della, who quickly dragged her eyes off his mouth. “But kissing is a skill. Anyone can learn to be good at it, it’s just practice.” He seemed less awkward now, warming to the topic. “There are more important things you can learn from making out.”

“Like what, oh wise wingman?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

Della gave a half laugh. “Absolutely.”

He rolled his eyes but continued. “Like how willing the other person is to learn and adapt. Do they only like to lead and dominate? Can they be soft and playful as well as hard and fast? Can they read their partner? Sense the pace the other person wants to move at? Are they generous? Does it feel like something they’re just checking off a list that gets them to the main course, or do they really enjoy it? Linger over it? Would they kiss for hours and hours and do nothing else if that’s all the other person wanted?”

Della swallowed. Oh yeah. He’d really warmed up to the topic. So had she. She was too young for a hot flash, but damn if her whole body wasn’t humming with heat. “Would you?” she asked.

“What?” His throat bobbed, and his whiskey-colored eyes went all smoky.

“Just kiss.” The restaurant noise faded as the space around them shrank right down.

“This isn’t about me.”

“I know, but…would you?”

He nodded slowly. “Of course.”

Della’s toes curled in her boots. How would that be? Kissing Tucker. For hours and hours. Learning the contours of his mouth and how he tasted. Learning what he liked and the sounds he made when he was turned on. Her breathing roughened. Fine tendrils of sensation looped low in her belly and tied in knots.

“Here you are, sir.”

Della blinked as the waiter plonked a beer down between them, slicing through the charged space like a machete. Tucker thanked him and took a slug of his drink, turning to face the street as Della cleared her throat. They may have been interrupted, but they weren’t done here yet.

“So, what you’re saying is, I should be a mermaid?”

It took Tucker a beat or two to answer. He turned his head slightly to regard her with those solemn whiskey eyes. “What I’m saying is, it’s okay to explore at your own pace. And if a guy doesn’t like it, then kick him to the curb.”

The fact Della got to be in charge of this stuff now was mind-blowing, considering she’d had zero agency when she’d been married. And she was eager to experiment with this newfound freedom, although she knew she was going to need to take it slow. And even if she hadn’t, Selena had certainly reiterated it many times.

Tinder seemed ripe with opportunities to experiment, and she did want to put herself out there, but would anyone be willing to ease into the intimacy a little? Everywhere she looked, it seemed most people skipped straight to the sex part. Even in Winona’s books, her characters got down to business pretty damn fast.

It made her feel like a bit of a…freak.

“You really think there are guys out there who are okay with a woman saying I just want to kiss for now?”

“Of course.”

“On Tinder?”

“Yeah. Even on Tinder.” He placed his beer down carefully and leaned forward on his elbows, glancing sideways at her. “Have you thought about being up front about your background…about what you’ve been through in the past? Right out of the gate? It might help a guy understand you wanting to go a little slow.”

Della blinked. What the what? “You want me to tell a guy on a first date that my ex used to abuse me, but it’s okay because he went to prison and now he’s dead?”

“Well…maybe not in those words.”

She gaped at him. “No one’s going to stick around after that.”

He shrugged. “You might be surprised.”

“Sure, the freaks who like broken chicks or the guys who like to fix women. I don’t want to be pitied or…stigmatized, Tuck. I just want to be like every other millennial female out there trying to have some fun. Not…damaged goods. I’m tired of feeling like that.”

He shifted the weight off his elbows as he sat back in his chair, a hand absently rubbing along his jaw. The scratchy noise went straight to Della’s nipples, causing them to pucker. How could she be annoyed at him and turned on by him at the same time?

“Fair enough,” he said.

Della nodded, then reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “Now, let’s see what Tinder has on offer tonight.” She opened the app to find Xander staring back at her. He was in supertight athletic gear that left nothing to the imagination, his feet apart, his hands on his hips, and his chest puffed out like Buzz freaking Lightyear.

“Your parents will love me,” Della read. “Your neighbors won’t.”

She turned the phone to show Tucker, who winced. “You can practically see that dude’s religion.”

Della laughed and swiped left.

…

On Thursday morning, Della and Ruth were chatting on their way to the staff room for their break when they heard a very loud “Psssst, Della” as they were walking along the path outside Ray Carmody’s villa. Looking over her shoulder, she saw his head sticking out his door and his hand gesturing her over.

She turned to Ruth. “Can I catch up with you later?”

Ruth nodded good-naturedly. “I’ll save you a donut.”

Thursdays were donut day, and Della was usually first in line. “I’ll love you forever,” she said, giving Ruth’s arm a quick squeeze before wandering over to Ray.

“Everything okay, Mr. Carmody?” she asked as he opened the door wide enough and indicated for her to enter.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, you old fool,” Bob Downey grouched. He was sitting on a chair by the window.

Della’s gaze swept the room, coming to rest on the bed, where a pile of clothes had been haphazardly laid out. “Are you culling your closet?”

“Yeah,” Bob snickered. “He’s all about the Marie Kondo.”

“Can it, Bob,” Ray said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No…I’m after a woman’s opinion. On what I should wear tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“He’s taking Rosemary on a date.”

“Really?” Della hadn’t seen Rosemary this morning, but it seemed like her hints had finally paid dividends. “You asked her out?”

Ray nodded proudly. “You bet your sweet ass I did. And she said yes. But…it’s been over sixty years since I’ve been on a date, so…” He glanced at the pile of clothes.

“I’ve been telling him he should wear a suit,” Bob interjected.

Della wrinkled her brow. About the only place anyone wore a suit to around here was a funeral. Maybe church, if your transgressions were big enough that a few Hail Marys weren’t going to cut the mustard. She assessed the clothes on the bed. “Where are you taking her?”

“To Jack’s. For cocktails. I already spoke to Tucker, and he’s making a signature drink just for her.”

“Awww.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “That’s very romantic, Mr. Carmody.”

He shrugged. “It was his suggestion. He’s going to call it a Rosemary Fizz.”

The news didn’t surprise her. Tucker pretended he didn’t like making fancy drinks, but Della secretly thought, after a decade of pulling beers for cowboys, he enjoyed stretching his bartender repertoire. Plus, he had an extraordinary amount of cocktail umbrellas and novelty swizzle sticks for a guy who decried the amount of time they took to make.

Della’s crush grew a little bigger. The man was so damn…accommodating. Tinder guru, driving instructor, wingman.

And now cupid.

Ray cast a glance at his bed. “So…what do you think I should wear? Rosemary’s one classy woman. I don’t want to look like some bozo next to her.”

Yes, Rosemary would definitely appreciate a man who had gone to some trouble. “Not a suit.” Della crossed closer to the bed.

“Told you,” Ray said, shooting a triumphant look at his best friend.

“A nice pair of trousers. And a button-down shirt.” She sorted through the available choices. It wasn’t the most modern collection she’d ever seen, but there were some good-quality pieces. “These should work.”

She held up a pair of charcoal trousers that were one half of a suit. The jacket was too out-of-date, but the cut of the pants and the faint burgundy pinstripes gave them a classic kind of style. Teamed with a paisley print, long-sleeved shirt, Ray Carmody would look just the right amount of retro cool with his strikingly gray hair.

Bob nodded his approval. “You’ll be the coolest cat in the joint.”

Ray beamed. “Thank you, Della.”

“You’re welcome.” She grinned. “I hope you have a really nice time.”

Bob’s next words were unexpected, to say the least. “You got protection? Or do we need to go to the drugstore?”

“What?” Ray gaped at his friend, looking both mortified and horrified at once. Della couldn’t blame him. She was pretty mortified herself. This conversation was right up there with the dildo one.

“You know…a rubber?”

“Yes, Bob. I know what you mean.” He bugged his eyes at his buddy and slid his gaze meaningfully sideways at Della and back again. “It’s just…not like that. And besides, as far as I know, it’s not possible to get an eighty-four-year-old woman pregnant.”

Bob gave a snort. “This isn’t about pregnancy, old-timer. This is about STDs. You know. Chlamydia. And the clap. According to the latest stats out of the CDC, the incidence of sexually transmitted diseases in residential facilities for seniors is on the rise.”

Della blinked. She was pretty sure there were people out there in the public-health space who weren’t as up on the latest CDC figures regarding STDs as Bob Downey.

“It seems like with all those little blue pills men are popping and the risk of pregnancy not being an issue, old folks are getting it on more than ever.” Bob winked at Della. “Apparently it’s like spring break in some senior facilities.”

Okay. They were now entering the realm of too much information. Della was happy that seniors were getting it on like college kids in Cancún, but dear God… Please make it stop.

“Bob, you have way too much time on your hands,” Ray said. “It’s just a date. Some drinks and conversation at Jack’s, then walk her to her door. Maybe a friendly kiss on her cheek, if she seems amenable. That’s it.”

“Okay, okay, no need to get your panties in a bunch. I’m just sayin’.”

“Ah…” Della pointed to the door. “Think I’ll keep going, if we’re done here?”

“Yes, thank you, dear.” Ray smiled. “And apologies for this fool. He can be a few peas short of a casserole from time to time.”

Bob hooted out a laugh, clearly not remotely insulted. “Never liked peas anyway.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Ray agreed, and then they were both laughing.

Della took advantage of the moment to back out of the room. She loved those two old guys, but maybe eternal spinsterhood wasn’t such a bad proposition after all.

Ten minutes later, Della entered Rosemary’s villa. She was in her usual position on the window seat, a book in hand. Clearly, she was not suffering the same nerves as Ray.

“I hear you have a date tonight,” Della said as she approached the window.

“I do.” She grinned as she took her glasses off, resting them on top of the book in her lap. “We’re going to Jack’s for cocktails.” She gave a happy sigh. “You know, I don’t think I’ve had a cocktail since that cruise Winston and I did a decade ago.”

“Tucker makes a mean cocktail.”

“So I hear.”

“Well, Ray’s definitely looking forward to it. I’ve just been helping him choose something to wear. He wants something worthy of your classiness. He was in quite a tizzy about it.”

“Aww. That’s sweet. I hope you set him straight.”

“I think you’ll approve.” Della perched her butt on the end of the window seat. “You don’t seem too worried.”

“I’ve already decided on a dress I bought a few years ago. It has a back zipper, so it’s”—she winked—“easy to get off in a hurry, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh… Yes. Right.” It seemed Rosemary was after more than a peck on the cheek.

The older woman laughed. “You don’t approve of me putting out on the first date?”

“Oh no…that’s…” Della’s cheeks went fiery hot. “I mean…sure, why not.”

“But you think we should court some more?” Rosemary’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“No…no.” Tucker’s words about making out from Friday night returned. About how people skipped over that bit too fast. “What you and Ray do is entirely up to you.”

Rosemary cocked an eyebrow. “It sounds like there’s a but there?”

“No…” Della leaned her head back against the wall and rolled it to the side to stare out the window, her gaze taking in the leaden sky threatening to unload. “I was just thinking.”

“About what? Spit it out, girlie, let me hear it.”

Della rolled her head back to face Rosemary. “Tucker says too many people skip the making-out bit, which is where you learn a lot about the person you’re with.”

“Tucker said that, did he? Taking his wingman duties seriously, I see.”

The look in the old woman’s astute gaze did not help with the color or heat in Della’s cheeks. She shrugged. “I guess.”

Rosemary grunted. “Tucker is right, of course, but he’s about fifty years younger than me and a hunk of burning love who still has his best days in front of him. I, on the other hand, could be dead tomorrow. You can’t mess around when you get to my age. In fact, there’s a good argument for not messing around at any age if you know what you want. My sister dropped dead at twenty-six, massive stroke. It was a long time ago now, but…we never know when our number’s up.”

“Twenty-six?” One year older than Della.

“Yup. It was a tragedy none of us ever really got over.” There was a sudden waver in Rosemary’s voice. “She had her heart set on going to Disneyland from the moment it opened. Never got there.”

“I’ve never been there, either.”

“Oh honey, that man is Disneyland, the Kennedy Space Center, and Margaritaville all rolled into one.”

Della’s gaze met Rosemary’s. It was tempting to play dumb, but those shrewd eyes refused to let her hide. “Tucker?”

“Yeah, Tucker.” Rosemary leaned forward and patted her hand. “And you should be riding him any chance you get.”