Della unwound it, then shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it and the scarf on the rack just inside the door. All that remained was the dark green scrubs she wore to work and the white Henley she wore underneath her top to keep her arms warm. She wouldn’t ordinarily wear her work clothes to Jack’s, but it was on her way home and it’d been too damn cold to continue, especially when she was coming straight back to meet her friends Molly and Marley anyway.

Yeah, she was a little early, but she had things to be getting on with—like Tinder.

Jack’s was pretty much deserted at three on a Thursday afternoon. There were some people out back playing pool, because she could hear the click of the balls over the low croon of Zac Brown Band on the jukebox, but no one was at the bar or in the booths.

It was just her. And Tucker.

Her stomach gave a little flip, and, for a nanosecond, Della contemplated grabbing a booth, but she dismissed the idea immediately. Making him walk over to her when the place was completely empty would be weird.

And besides, Tucker could help her with the Tinder thing.

He acknowledged her presence with a head nod as she sat, his gaze flicking to her hat hair for a quick moment. It probably looked like she’d been attacked by a flock of angry birds, and Della patted it self-consciously.

“What’ll it be?”

For some reason—maybe the fact she was thinking about him in that suit again or his quick, dismissive once-over of her hair—his polite facade ticked her off more than it had ever done.

His polite, brotherly facade.

The man looked at her like she was some distant cousin that he tolerated because she was family. Whereas her heart always beat just a little bit faster whenever Tucker was nearby.

Exactly like it was now.

“Strawberry daiquiri.” Jack’s never used to serve pink froufrou drinks, but Tucker had put them on the menu when the women had come to town thanks to that Facebook campaign.

With no further comment, he set about fixing her drink, and Della was tempted to watch and enjoy the shift of pecs and biceps beneath the firm stretch of his shirt and the way his worn, faded Levi’s hugged his hips. But she didn’t need to add any more fuel to the bonfire of horny raging in her loins.

She opened her phone and downloaded the Tinder app instead.

By the time Tucker had returned with her drink, Della was trying to decide on her profile picture. She wasn’t exactly flush with choices. She was probably the only millennial on the planet who wasn’t on Facebook, and she wasn’t much of a selfie taker. There were a few she could use, but she didn’t think any of them were Tinder-worthy.