Which begged the question—what was Tinder-worthy? What kind of picture interested guys? Something that showcased her big, friendly smile, or something sultry? Lipstick and tumbled-down hair with the top two buttons of her shirt undone? She didn’t have one of those, but she supposed she could take one. Or get Marley or Molly to take it, anyway? After they’d magicked up some kind of Fairy Godmother makeover.

Even the thought of posing for something like that gave Della a delicious kind of thrill in places best not thought about while in the company of Credence’s hottie bartender.

“One strawberry daiquiri.” Hottie bartender set the creation down.

Della glanced at him speculatively. Tucker was a guy. Ignoring the drink, she scrolled to the images stored in her camera. “Which picture do you prefer?” She held up the phone. “This one?”

The picture on the screen was a selfie that Arlo had taken of both of them mucking around. She was mid–belly laugh. After giving him a couple of seconds to view it, she scrolled to the second choice. “Or this one?”

It was a candid shot snapped at work. She’d been feeding Mr. Weiner his lunch and had obviously zoned out for a moment, her stare fixed somewhere in the distance.

It was very…Mona Lisa.

“Why?”

“I’m using it as a profile pic,” she said, toggling between the two.

“What for?”

Della sighed, exasperated. “Does it matter?”

“Of course. If it’s for an employment profile, I’d go for number two. If it’s for Instagram, I’d advise number one. Maybe crop your brother’s ugly mug out of it, though.”

He sent her a wisp of a smile, and Della’s mouth curved upward, despite her annoyance at his complete indifference to her as a woman. “It’s for Tinder.”

“Tinder?”

His voice was carefully neutral, as were his features, but Della had studied Tucker’s face often enough to know when he was alarmed. She nodded. “I’ve just joined.”

“Oh, okay…” He nodded with a forced kind of casualness. “How’d Arlo take that?”

Della stiffened. She’d cut Arlo a lot of slack since that terrible day he’d found her three years ago. Thanks to family secrets, they’d only met for the first time a few days beforehand, but he’d swooped in and taken charge of the situation. Given the state of her and what had gone down, she’d been grateful for her newfound brother’s intervention and protection. Grateful for him providing it every day since.

Arlo’s steady shielding had given Della the space and time she’d needed to work through all her stuff, of which there had been a mountain. But now that her wings were aching to stretch? It was becoming a bit too much.

And she really needed to have a conversation with her brother.