Arlo grunted. “Tuck is a kiss-ass. But yeah…” He stopped glaring at Tucker, his gaze softening as he glanced at his sister. “Just don’t rush into anything, okay? And promise me you won’t be a stranger.”

Della’s face broke into a grin. “I promise.”

She leaped forward, hugging Arlo tight around the neck, meeting Tucker’s eyes over her brother’s shoulder, her grin getting bigger. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Tucker shook his head at her, also grinning, despite the shit ton of holy fuck that had just gone down. Her happiness was infectious, plucking at his chest and pulling at his breath.

Christ, this thing between them was really going to happen. There was an inevitability about it that Tucker wasn’t going to even try to fight anymore. He was going to give Della what she wanted. He just had to remember that this liaison was only temporary. Della wasn’t looking for long-term, and he absolutely understood why. At the end of this, the most important thing was to keep their friendship intact.

And that was all that mattered.

…

Much to Arlo’s dismay, ten days later, Della was moving into her own place. Bob Downey—who apparently owned half the houses in Credence—had a little two-bedroom cottage with a small back garden, which was perfect for Della, and the rent was affordable. It was also next door to the faux-antebellum, wedding-cake monstrosity of a house belonging to Wade and CC, who were planning on moving into it permanently when their baby came.

The Saturday morning weather was warm as Arlo, Tucker, Drew, and Bob and Ray from the old folks’ home helped her move into the house. Not that she had much. The furniture—her bed, a spare bed for the second room, some couches, a dining table and chairs, a coffee table, a washing machine, a dryer, a fridge-freezer and some bookshelves—had all been bought secondhand from people in the local district or had been given to her.

Molly, Marley, Winona, Rosemary, and Ruth also lent a hand, unpacking boxes and bags as they were brought inside. It was mostly kitchen stuff and some meager linen supplies—again, mostly sourced secondhand. Then there were her books and the few knickknacks she’d accumulated over the last three years.

And they came bearing gifts. Potted plants and a pasta maker and a slow cooker. Champagne, too, for celebrating when the work was done. Rosemary had made her some curtains for her bedroom—the only one in the house without blinds. They were in a gorgeous paisley fabric that reminded Della of a peacock’s tail and would be a good sun blocker for the east-facing room. And Wade’s mother, Ronnie Carter, had baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and a big tray of homemade lasagna so Della didn’t have to worry about cooking for the next couple of nights.