Della blinked at the older woman’s candor. Some things came under too much information and couldn’t be unheard. Rosemary, however, was firmly stuck down memory lane. Or down her late husband’s boxers, anyway.

Winston had been gone for a year and a half when Rosemary had made the decision to move just over the border to Credence’s old folks’ home. Her sons, who ran the family ranch now, hadn’t wanted her to go, but Rosemary had been adamant. She missed company her own age, and she didn’t want to be a burden. Plus, it had made sense to be somewhere that would give her support to live independently as well as options for more structured care should it ever be required.

Della respected the grand old lady immensely. She had strength and guts and conviction. Her shrink had talked about her modeling herself on people she admired, and Rosemary was the perfect candidate.

“He was big, you know?” She turned questioning eyes on Della, who nodded.

She did now. Prior to Tinder, she hadn’t known that such a size variety existed; she’d just assumed that all men were about equal in that department.

“And—” Rosemary made a fist and looked down at her forearm. “Thick. And always so hard.” She glanced at Della. “He never suffered from age-related droop, like so many of my friends’ husbands. He was…rampant right till the end. Best of all…” She smiled and nudged Della’s shoulder. “That man liked to eat, if you know what I mean.”

Okaaaay. Nope. Della stood abruptly. She was very happy that Rosemary and Winston had indulged regularly, but she did not want to know the details. Not to mention how depressing it was to know an octogenarian boasted a better sex life.

Rosemary looked up at Della, clearly surprised at her sudden move. “I really should get going,” she said by way of explanation, finding it hard to meet the older woman’s eye.

“Sure.” Rosemary gave her a knowing smile. “You’ll understand one day. When you meet the one, everything else falls into place.”

Della returned the smile. She wished she had the older woman’s confidence. Unfortunately, her confidence was a work in progress that came with a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollars-per-hour price tag. She’d thought Todd was the one, and that had been a total disaster. She’d since learned, thanks to therapy, he’d been her escape route from a repressed home life, not the one.

She’d definitely gone out of the frying pan and into the fire with Todd, and the truth was, Della didn’t trust her instincts for one second. And she wasn’t sure she ever would again. Which was why she wasn’t looking for the one. Just a bunch of different ones to remind her she was a woman, damn it.