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He doesn’t even tell me not to use that mysterious nickname. Maybe I should make telling me the story of how he became Cold Turkey one of my terms.

I smile. I can’t help it. Having Marcus Delaney squirm under my thumb might be my new favorite hobby.

“Kate says we have to keep it under wraps,” he says. “Just her, my agent, you and me. If it leaks that we’re pretending it could do more damage than good.”

“So I can’t even tell my sister?”

“When this is over, you can take out a billboard.”

“Seriously? Will you be paying for that? And can it say I fake dated Marcus Delaney with a really flattering photo of me next to the caption?”

“No. I take that back. No billboard. But when this is finished, I can tell the guys and you can tell your close friends if you think they’ll keep it on the down low.”

“Okay,” I say, not wanting to be too difficult, as fun as it is to toy with him.

“So …” he says, blowing out an audible breath. “These terms of yours.”

I sit on the stoop of the office doorway, staring down the street at the other houses and buildings that have mostly been turned into businesses, though a few are still residences. The air is heavy, but not as hot as it has been. A breeze blows through, lifting my hair and cooling my skin—a teaser of the fall that’s scratching at the door, eager to come in.

“Okay, Delaney,” I say. “We're doing this. Here are my terms.”

“Why doesn't it surprise me that you have terms?” he says, almost to himself.

“Which of us has more to lose here?” I ask him.

Silence. Then he says, “That's a hard call.”

“No, it's not. We both know that’s you. Barely anyone even knows who I am.”

“They do,” he says. “That’s why Kate wants you. And, after this, more people will know who you are.”

I consider what he’s saying. It’s the exact opposite of what I want. Winona has endured the spotlight. She’s been amazing—not letting it go to her head, still being herself, and weathering all the haters and clout chasers.

I’m more outspoken than my sister. But contrary to how it may appear, I never have loved the limelight. I can lead an army. But I’d rather not be the face of anything. Porch Light is the one project that stretches me outside my comfort zone. I’ll do whatever it takes to bless the people in need in Waterford. Obviously. Here I am, willing to date the one person on the planet whose presence practically gives me hives.

“Okay, well,” I say. “My terms are pretty basic.”

“Lay them on me,” he says.

“Don’t laugh,” I warn him.

“Laughing is the last thing I’m doing right now, Carter.”

Cahhtuhh. The way he says it. I hate that I like it so much. It’s my name in lullaby form.

“You can not fall in love with me.”

He laughs.

“I said no laughing.”

“Right. Right.” He’s still laughing.

“This is serious, QB. Maybe you’ve never read a fake dating romance. But I have. Plenty of them. And you would be surprised to hear that one hundred percent of the time, the couple ends up falling in love.”

“In fiction.”

“Yes. In fiction.”