Dragging her eyes off the hunk of man who had eaten some of Annie’s peach cobbler off her stomach last night—he’d brought two: one for them, one for Mrs. Doyle—she turned to find Rosemary sitting in a booth opposite two men who appeared to be in their fifties. She’d asked Della to come to Jack’s today to meet her sons, and Della had agreed readily.

That was before she realized just how transparent she really was around Tucker. Too many more incendiary stares like that and their cover would be blown.

Rosemary waved her over. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Della smiled as she slipped in beside Rosemary. The two men opposite were tall and handsome like their mama, with gray wings in their hair and tanned, craggy faces. A couple of Stetsons sat on the table in front of them next to their empty beer glasses.

“This is Jethro and Clay,” Rosemary said, indicating who was who. Clay seemed younger than his brother by a few years.

“Nice to meet you,” Della said, shaking hands with both men, who smiled in greeting.

It was hard not to reflect in this moment on how far she’d come in the last three years. In the last year, really, since Arlo had set up the job at the old folks’ home. She’d have shrunk from any man offering his hand when she’d first moved to Credence. But with therapy and Arlo giving her a gentle push, she’d come a long way.

She owed Arlo a lot.

“Can I get you anything from the bar?” Clay asked politely, collecting his and his brother’s glasses.

Della glanced up to find Tucker’s eyes on her. He was talking to a customer, but his eyes were fixed firmly in her direction. “Yes please, Clay.” I’ll have the hot dude behind the bar. She returned her attention to Rosemary’s son. “A piña colada.” Her blue eyes flicked to the bar again, clashing with the heat and intensity of whiskey. “Tucker knows how I like it.”

“Ooh. I’ll have one of those, too.” Rosemary drained her half glass of white wine in three swallows and passed it to her son. “Tell Tucker I’ll have what she’s having.”

Jethro blinked. “You want a cocktail? At two in the afternoon?”

Rosemary did not blink. “Yes.”

Clay seemed as nonplussed as his brother by the obviously out-of-character request but departed without further comment. The three made small talk while they waited for Clay to return. He was back five minutes later with two frothy concoctions, handing one to his mom and the other to Della. “Tucker says this one is yours.”