Rosemary Forbes appeared in a pair of snug, burnt orange leggings, expensively fashionable hand-tooled boots, and an elegant cowl-necked sweater of muted browns and soft grays. She was a tall, handsome woman, and she crossed the room with her usual erectness of spine and sureness of gait.

“You thinking about your young man?” There was a faint trace of New York in the older woman’s voice, although it had been blunted by Midwestern living. Posh Yankee, she called it.

Della smiled at Rosemary’s meaningful eyebrow waggle and blushed a little. If it had been anyone else in the home, they’d have asked that question in hushed tones. Like she was some kind of skittish foal. They’d have been tentative, given her a gentle encouraging smile. Maybe even a hug.

Owing to her relative newness to the home, Rosemary, as far as Della knew, wasn’t up on the whole sorry saga of Della’s pre-Credence life and, not being the type to indulge in gossip, hadn’t bothered to inquire. Although, she suspected, the older woman wouldn’t have treated her any differently anyway.

Della smiled mysteriously as she plopped the pillow back on the bed. She didn’t have a young man, and she wasn’t doing this to settle for the first guy she met on this new journey of hers. She wasn’t interested in settling at all. She was doing it to get a life.

But she was going on a date!

“Here.” The older woman sat herself down on the newly made bed and patted the spot beside her. “Sit and tell me all about him.”

Della had several things that needed doing, but she could spare ten minutes. She sat on the bed, pushing the tail of her braid over her shoulder as she turned slightly to look into an elegantly lined face. “What would you like to know?”

“I bet you have a picture of him on your phone, don’t you? My grandkids carry their entire lives on those things.”

“Sure.” Della pulled her cell phone from her pocket and navigated to Tinder. “This is Cody. He lives in Denver, and he’s twenty-six. He works for the city. Something to do with potholes.”

“Oh my,” Rosemary said, the hand that had just pushed her glasses on her face fluttering over her chest. “He’s a looker.”

Della nodded. Cody had a cheeky kind of charisma. It wasn’t the laid-back, lived-in sexiness of Tucker’s features, but Tucker was thirty-six and out of her league, so it was a pointless comparison. “He is.”

Best of all, he was looking for a woman who didn’t just want to hook up, but who wanted to date a bit and have some fun.

“He told me I have pretty eyes.”

Rosemary glanced at her, peering into Della’s face. “You do.”