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I smile at Mom. She means well. I don’t blame her for wanting to see me happy—or at least actively pursuing romance. Porch Light is my boyfriend right now. It gets all my undivided attention, and I’m madly in love.

“I’m sorry, Cass,” Daisy says. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. There were just a couple shots of the two of you staring into one another’s eyes. They looked pretty intense.”

They were intense alright. I think we were trying to burn one another into the ground with laser eyes. The adage says the camera never lies. I beg to disagree. All I’ve been around lately are fibbing cameras—the veritable Pinocchio of cameras.

Daisy shakes her head and says, “You know, it's like you're talking about a different man. I haven't spent that much time around Marcus, but he's always been so thoughtful. He came to Moss and Maple to attend the book signing of a children's book about football. He stayed and talked to each child and parent. A lot of the other players showed and left. Not Marcus. He was squatting down at eye level with each kid. He made their day.”

I picture the scene as she describes it. Marcus, warm and friendly.

He certainly can be that. Usually it’s driven by his love of the limelight. The man even brought his own camera crew to the volunteer sign-up.

I look down the table at Daisy and say, “Even the Grinch fed his dog.”

Winona laughs, but then she says, “Cass, be nice.”

“I am nice. And we should change the subject.”

She nods. “Good idea.”

My phone rings. It’s Kate from the Thunder. We’ve been working together to coordinate the team’s involvement in Porch Light. I excuse myself from the table and step outside into the warm August afternoon air.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cass. Kate here, from the Thunder.”

“Yeah. Hi, Kate.”

“Cass, I know how much you love the Thunder.”

“I do. Die-hard fan through and through. I think if you cut me open, I bleed navy and orange.”

She laughs softly. “That’s awesome. I’m pretty sure we share a blood type.” She pauses for a second and then she says, “I have a favor to ask—on behalf of the team.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“There’s a gala Saturday night. It’s a fundraiser for youth football programs and some other charities the Thunder support. I’d like you to come.”

“To come to a Thunder gala?”

I try to tamp down my excitement. This is incredible. Those kinds of events are exclusive and attended by all the players and people with money who want to donate to charities and rub shoulders with the team.

“Yes. But before you get too excited,” Kate says, “I want you to come as Marcus’s date for the evening.”

“His date?”

The giddy fizzy feeling that was practically making me lightheaded with excitement goes instantly flat and sinks like stale soda in my gut.

“I know this is a big ask. But I'm not asking you to actually date Marcus Delaney. I'm just asking you to attend a function that ninety-nine percent of the women in Tennessee would sell their first child to attend with our quarterback.”

She’s not wrong. That stat could be accurate. I just happen to be in the one percent of women in Tennessee who would rather swallow glass than be in the same room as the famous face of the Thunder.

I glance around the neighborhood where the Dogwood House is located as if the right answer to this request might come running out from between two houses.

When my silence stretches on too long, Kate says, “I’m not asking this for Marcus. It’s for the Thunder. His reputation affects the team. Being with you has been good for his image. If he shows up alone after the rumors about the two of you started circulating, people may speculate that there’s something amiss between the two of you.”

There is something amiss. Amiss doesn’t even start to describe what is between us.

“If Marcus looks good, the Thunder look good. Then everyone can focus on the upcoming season.”