“I do.” She grinned as she took her glasses off, resting them on top of the book in her lap. “We’re going to Jack’s for cocktails.” She gave a happy sigh. “You know, I don’t think I’ve had a cocktail since that cruise Winston and I did a decade ago.”

“Tucker makes a mean cocktail.”

“So I hear.”

“Well, Ray’s definitely looking forward to it. I’ve just been helping him choose something to wear. He wants something worthy of your classiness. He was in quite a tizzy about it.”

“Aww. That’s sweet. I hope you set him straight.”

“I think you’ll approve.” Della perched her butt on the end of the window seat. “You don’t seem too worried.”

“I’ve already decided on a dress I bought a few years ago. It has a back zipper, so it’s”—she winked—“easy to get off in a hurry, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh… Yes. Right.” It seemed Rosemary was after more than a peck on the cheek.

The older woman laughed. “You don’t approve of me putting out on the first date?”

“Oh no…that’s…” Della’s cheeks went fiery hot. “I mean…sure, why not.”

“But you think we should court some more?” Rosemary’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“No…no.” Tucker’s words about making out from Friday night returned. About how people skipped over that bit too fast. “What you and Ray do is entirely up to you.”

Rosemary cocked an eyebrow. “It sounds like there’s a but there?”

“No…” Della leaned her head back against the wall and rolled it to the side to stare out the window, her gaze taking in the leaden sky threatening to unload. “I was just thinking.”

“About what? Spit it out, girlie, let me hear it.”

Della rolled her head back to face Rosemary. “Tucker says too many people skip the making-out bit, which is where you learn a lot about the person you’re with.”

“Tucker said that, did he? Taking his wingman duties seriously, I see.”

The look in the old woman’s astute gaze did not help with the color or heat in Della’s cheeks. She shrugged. “I guess.”

Rosemary grunted. “Tucker is right, of course, but he’s about fifty years younger than me and a hunk of burning love who still has his best days in front of him. I, on the other hand, could be dead tomorrow. You can’t mess around when you get to my age. In fact, there’s a good argument for not messing around at any age if you know what you want. My sister dropped dead at twenty-six, massive stroke. It was a long time ago now, but…we never know when our number’s up.”

“Twenty-six?” One year older than Della.