Five

There's a good chance Luke Edgewood enlisted in Operation: Reform Arran to instill torture.

Or at least that's what Arran's muscles had been screaming each morning he woke to begin yet another workday. Though the hard

work and comradery of his brother-in-law provided a twin sense of pride and... surprising friendship. Plus, he'd enjoyed

observing Luke and Ellie together in the privacy of their home, their mutual affection and complementary relationship plain

for all to see. They teased each other, shared the work, and enjoyed simply spending time together, with Luke supporting Ellie's

interior design skills and diplomatic responsibilities and Ellie encouraging Luke's business.

A real team. A friendship. With all the added benefits of romance.

Arran drew in a deep breath. He'd always wanted a romance like that. Genuine, thoughtful, and lovely romantic friendship.

A ridiculous thing to voice aloud, but tucked between his ears the thought settled over him with renewed welcome.

Angelica, with all her pretense and selfishness, could never have given him a home with such authenticity and joy. And that's

what he knew he wanted now, a home filled with the same connection and joy he saw with Luke and Ellie, the same he'd witnessed

in his parents. A shame it took him so many mistakes and two years of heartache to sort it out.

The walk down Main Street in Ransom helped stretch out his muscles and introduced him to an even more storybook-like setting than Mount Airy. A well-organized conglomeration of manicured buildings sat along a principal street lined with lampposts and a few trees—a lovely way to intermingle nature among brick and stone, with the blue-toned mountains on the horizon.

As Arran neared the city center, an assemblage of aromas, from buttery popcorn to nuts roasted with brown sugar and cinnamon,

ushered him into the fray of voices and laughter and children's giggles.

He checked his watch. The fair and carnival didn't begin for another two hours, yet hundreds of people already weaved among

the booths lining the street. With Luke's directions in hand, Arran followed the pavement to an old brick church with a steeple

towering into the blue sky. A green tented booth stretched along the front of the churchyard, myriad potted flowers taking

up one side of the grass beside the tent, each tied with a ribbon.

Were those potted plants donated by a garden center for The Wish? Luke mentioned donations for the charity came all year long—hand

crafts, small furniture items, quilts, and even flowers.

The power of a community coming together truly held its own magic.

He rounded the edge of the booth to find Charlotte behind a central table wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a ball cap and sorting

through a box.

"Are all those flowers donations?"

Charlotte's gaze came up, the white bandage across the bridge of her nose a poignant reminder of his stupidity.

"Isn't it remarkable?" Her lips curved into a cautious smile. "And this year we've gotten the most donations ever." Those

silver eyes brightened with her statement. "I think we'll be able to serve at least a dozen more kids if we can sell all this."

"I'm glad I'm here to help, then."

"Sure."

But her voice lacked conviction as she looked away. He wasn't sure why—maybe it was the broken nose and his complete idiocy, but once again, the desire to prove to her he wasn't the sum of their first meeting pushed him into action.

"What would you have me do?"

Charlotte studied him for a moment before stepping around the table toward him, her long ponytail swishing behind her. "I

could use help organizing and pricing the furniture there." She gestured toward the group of motley chairs and small tables,

even a decorated bookshelf or two. "I've marked down everything on this itemized list." She offered him a clipboard. "And

made the price tags. But I've not had a chance to sort them."

"I can do that." He took the clipboard.

"Thanks." Her brow creased as she studied him again. "And a local farmer, Jack James, is donating some fresh pumpkins that

we'll need to set up for sale too." A flicker of light returned to her eyes. "Big ones."

"Excellent."

Was that playful little spark a glimpse at the real Charlotte? Each time he'd met her before during the construction work,

she'd remained somewhat distant, but that spark of excitement hinted at something more.

A charming playfulness.

"We only have about two hours before everything begins." She waved toward the items. "So you'd better stop dillydallying and

get to work."

"Dillydallying?" He paused in his turn, tentatively stepping into a little teasing. "You mean to enjoy bossing me around a

little bit, don't you?"

"Oh no." She shook her head, her lips twisting into a crooked grin. "I plan to enjoy it a whole lot."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then, with a sweeping bow and his gaze never leaving hers, he said, "It is my honor to serve, my lady."

A rush of lovely pink brushed her cheeks, and the sight made him pause. It had been a while since he'd seen a woman sincerely

and sweetly blush. The picture stuck in his mind.

She was lovely.

"Very funny." She shook her head and backed away. "Now get to work before I think you're afraid of it."

They worked over an hour, sorting and organizing and pricing, before Jack James and his pumpkins arrived. Enormous. Arran

had never seen such pumpkins.

"Told you." Charlotte walked up beside him as he stared at the massive offerings in the back of Jack's truck.

"You could build a village inside of those."

"Not quite." She coughed out a laugh. "But imagine the pies you could make."

"How many, do you reckon?"

She stared down at the pumpkin Arran had just pulled into his arms. "Three or four, maybe?"

"Three or four pumpkin pies." He sighed and turned toward the booth. "I love pies."

She came up beside him, a smaller pumpkin in her arms, but still larger than he'd expected her to carry. Of course, she worked

with Luke, so she must be strong. "Have you ever bobbed for apples or played the ‘Shoot the Ducks' game at the fair, Your

Highness?"

He frowned at the honorific. It didn't fit here. Or her.

"I can't say I even know what you're talking about, Charlotte."

"Of course." She rolled her eyes. "You're a prince."

"And a foreigner," he added, lowering his pumpkin to a designated spot and walking back to the truck.

"What about a hayride? Or a big, loud, sometimes dangerous Thanksgiving dinner?" Even as she spoke, her smile grew wider, and something akin to a glow spread through his chest like internal sunshine.

Strange. And... unnerving.

"Am I supposed to want to experience the latter option?"

"You haven't fully had an Appalachian American experience without one." She shot him a look. "I have another question."

He settled another pumpkin in place. "Alright."

"Did you decide to call me Charlotte just to irritate me?"

He studied her, his grin twitching for release. " Does it irritate you?"

"Not irritate, exactly." Her brows creased as she looked up at him. "It's just that everyone calls me Charlie."

"Charlotte is a lovely name, and"—he studied her, the defined and feminine curve of her chin, the slender slope of her nose,

and those steely gray eyes—"it suits you better than Charlie, to my mind."

Her nose wrinkled with her frown. "Your sister said the same thing."

"We have a particular fondness for the name. There are quite a few impressive Charlottes in our family history. You'd fit

in with them, I think."

One of her brows rose. "Would I?"

"Oh yes." He picked up another pumpkin, pinching back his smile. "Strong, bighearted."

"Well, that sounds nice."

"A bit stubborn."

"Hey," she warned.

He peered over his shoulder, watching her lips war with a smile as she caught up with him. "But am I wrong?"

She shrugged. " Determined sounds better."

"Ah yes." He nodded. "You're right. Then I feel certain you are the very determined sort."

She raised her chin, stepping back. "And what sort are you?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid you've already come to your own conclusions on that score."

She placed her pumpkin down next to his and then studied him with hands on her hips. "Well, I'm all for you proving me wrong."

And with a little tip of her head, she turned toward the booth.

His grin grew as he followed her retreating form all the way into the booth, her declaration fueling his determination all

the more.

"Miss Charlie!"

A boy rushed forward, copper-colored hair bouncing atop his head with his frantic pace. He pushed passed Arran into the booth.

"It's the worst ever." His young voice rose with dramatic flair, his large blue eyes equally desperate. "We're ruined."

"What on earth is wrong, Jay?" Charlie didn't respond with the same desperation. "You're loud enough to wake the dead."

"But it's just awful. Patton is sick, and Lou Duncan's got a broken leg." His bottom lip quivered. "And my booth is supposed

to open in fifteen minutes. Fifteen ."

"Is there something I can do to help?" Arran stepped forward, drawing the boy's attention toward him for the first time.

Jay grimaced, unimpressed, and turned back to Charlotte. "You reckon there's somebody who can take the spot until Danny shows

up? He's gonna be here in an hour, but that's a whole hour of losing prime customers. We make a lot of money the first night."

He released a sigh so large it shook his whole body. "This ain't never happened in all my living days!"

Which only looked to be about eleven or twelve years.

"I can't leave this booth, Jay." Charlotte turned to Arran. "Could you stand in, just for the hour? It would certainly be

a valiant thing to do to rescue one of the"—she made air quotes— "‘best money-making booths of the festival.'"

Valiant rescue? That sounded like a worthy way to improve her opinion of him. "Of course."

"Jay, this is Prince Arran." She shook her head as if she hadn't planned to refer to him, title and all. "What exactly did

you need help with?"

"Well, I reckon he'll do." The boy gave Arran a thorough perusal, lips at an uncertain smirk. "Doesn't take a whole lot of

thinking anyhow. Just gotta sit real still."

Sit still?

Charlotte's brow creased with a confusion similar to what Arran felt. "I feel certain he can meet that expectation."

Her confidence was underwhelming.

"Alright, Prince." He waved his hand for Arran to follow and used the word more like a first name than a title. "You're so

big, you'll be an easy target."

"Target?" Arran shot a look at Charlotte, whose eyes grew wide.

"Yeah." Jay ushered Arran forward. "For the pie-throwing contest."

Pie throwing?

A laugh erupted behind him, but when he turned, Charlotte wore a look of utter innocence. She offered a helpless shrug and

waved toward the boy.

"Perfect, Jay." Charlotte's grin spread as slow and dangerous as the Cheshire cat's. "Arran is the man for you. He loves pies."