Arlo bought her a gift, too, in his typically practical style. Three flashlights, all large enough they could easily double as weapons, and a huge box of batteries. He’d actually wrapped them in colorful paper and a bow, which was sweet.

“For the BOBs?” Winona mouthed over his head, and Della had to bite her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

By five o’clock, with everything but her clothes unpacked, the champagne drunk, and the house duly christened, Della was utterly exhausted and sent everyone home, promising a proper housewarming party in a couple of weeks. Arlo stayed, which was fine by Della. Yes, she’d pushed for this, for her own place, and she was beyond excited that the moment was finally here, but…she was going to miss seeing her brother every day.

They ate lasagna together, and he set up her smart TV, and they watched the news for a bit and the start of a movie, but Della was yawning so much she ended up chasing him out.

“You’re going to be all right here by yourself?” he asked as he hesitated at the door.

“Yes.” She bugged her eyes at him in exasperation, but she was smiling also. She knew Arlo would eventually get over his need to hover. “I promise. I’m so tired, I’m just going to unpack my clothes, have a bath, and go to bed.”

With Tucker Daniels, if her luck held out.

She felt a little uneasy about her subterfuge as she waved her brother off, but not for long, because tonight was the night, and she refused to feel guilty about going after what she wanted. Not that Tucker had actually agreed to anything at this point. Between the house hunting and the packing, she’d seen very little of him since that stormy night to confirm his intentions.

But, after today, there was no doubt in her mind that Tucker would come to her tonight.

Every time he’d looked at her or brushed past her this morning, she’d known. His glances had been furtive but lingering, his touches light but deliberate. And her body was humming like an electrical substation.

It hummed all the way through unpacking her clothes and having a bath and even trying on half a dozen different outfits, wondering what the hell she should wear. Eventually she settled on a fluttery floral skirt with blue flowers that matched her eyes and came to just above her knee and a plain green T-shirt that matched the leaf pattern of the skirt. At the end of March, it was still cool enough at night to be in jeans, but she was running pretty damn hot at the moment and totally prepared to sacrifice warmth for access.

Yup. Access.

There were no buttons or zippers—not even a bra—to slow them down. Hell, if she’d been brave enough, she’d have gone commando.