Six

Two hours.

Charlie hadn't seen Arran in two hours.

What on earth had Jay done to the poor man?

As soon as her cousin Penelope relieved Charlie from her post, she rushed up the street, passing several vendors in search

of the prince.

Fading daylight had ignited the glowing lampposts lining Main Street, but they failed to provide any sign of Arran. Then a

loud shout erupted from the large crowd up ahead, slowing Charlie's approach.

Her gaze lifted to the sign above the crowd: "Pie Throwing." And scrawled in hasty handwriting beneath those words were: "Pie a Prince."

Air burst from her lungs.

What? She squeezed through the crowd to the front.

And her jaw dropped.

And, maybe, the teeniest bit of pity welled up at the sight.

Two chairs sat a few feet apart. One held sixteen-year-old Danny, who regularly participated in the pie-throwing booth. Next

to him sat Arran, much worse for the wear than Danny. White cream splattered his neck down to his knees, with vanilla pudding

studding his torso in varying-sized blobs.

His blond hair curled up on one side, sticky and stiff, while the other side dripped flat.

Charlie stopped just in time to watch a pie land directly in the center of Arran's chest with an unsatisfying thud . The crowd exploded as the remainder of the pie slid down to the man's stomach and fell over onto his lap.

Her bottom lip dropped. Oh, good heavens!

Her attention flew to the mischievous little ginger at the table, taking cash from folks in line with a smile to compete with

the best swindler.

Eleven-year-old boys could be incredibly sneaky when they put their minds to it. But though Jay tended toward the rascally

side of normal, did he have the power to convince Prince Arran of pie pummeling?

As soon as the little boy's blue eyes met Charlie's, his grin spread from one dimple to the other. "You won't believe it,

Miss Charlie. It's only the first night, and we've already raked in over a hundred dollars!"

His announcement paused her inquiry. Over a hundred dollars? In less than two hours? How was that even possible?

Her attention flitted back to Arran. Thankfully, this time the pie only landed on his knee, but the crowd shouted with no

less enthusiasm.

"Come on, lad!" Arran shouted to the teenager who'd thrown the pie, his accent curling. "Can't you do better than that? My

knee?"

Charlie's comment to Jay died on her tongue. Arran was egging on the throwers?

The teen stiffened and rushed back to the table, purchasing another pie.

"See?" Jay said, pointing in Arran's direction. "He's been like that from almost the start. Once he realized it brought in

more folks."

"How did you lot best Britain with aim like that?" Arran called back to the crowd, resulting in a mixture of laughter and

outcry. "My granny's got a better arm than the likes of you!"

Charlie was still trying to formulate words in her head. What on earth was happening?

" He came up with the idea, Charlie. I promise. Things were going swell before Danny showed up, but once Danny arrived, Arran

said we ought to have a real competition."

She blinked from Arran back to Danny. "Competition?"

"You know how the cost is two dollars for a regular throw. Well, Arran suggested we say it's five dollars to Pie a Prince,

and then the extra proceeds can go to The Mistletoe Wish."

That strategy certainly didn't fit the Pukey Prince from a few nights ago.

"And he just keeps getting folks riled up enough to come back for more."

Charlie stared at the prince in question, trying to get her brain to reconcile her assessment of him with this entire scene.

"Well, I think it's time to give the poor man a break, Jay. He's been at it long enough."

"Yeah, okay." Jay looked down longingly at the tin box of money and sighed before returning his attention to Charlie. "I don't

think he's a real prince, anyway. Real princes don't do pie-throwing contests."

Evidently this one does.

She blinked through the thought a few more times.

How could Arran mess with her "prince" assumptions on both ends of the fairy tale? Sloshed Sovereign and Pie Prince? She didn't

know of one fairy tale with that combination. Flynn Rider from Tangled probably got the closest.

"You throw like a girl, mate. Can't you do any better?"

She caught her laugh with her palm. Who was this guy?

At that moment, Arran's gaze found hers and the grin froze on his face.

One of his brows arched.

She steadied her expression, her own brow mirroring his as she stepped forward. "‘Throw like a girl'?" Charlie called above the crowd. "Are you disrespecting women, Your Highness?" The crowd quieted at her words. "Not a very noble trait for a prince."

His grin fell for only a second before it resurfaced with a glint in his eyes. "Do you plan to prove me wrong, Miss Edgewood?"

An "Oooh!" came from a few folks nearby, encouraging the challenge.

"Oh yeah." She pinched her lips tight against a laugh. She liked this version of Prince Nosebreaker. "I sure am."

She reached for a pie on the table, but Arran shook his head. "No cheating, Charlotte."

The use of her name brought a rush of warmth to her cheeks.

He needled her with a teasing look. "It's five dollars to Pie a Prince." His brows rose in challenge. "Even for you."

A few in the crowd laughed in response.

Charlie almost joined them. Without breaking eye contact, she reached into her back pocket, pulled out a bill, and slapped

it down on the table in front of Jay.

"That's a ten, Charlie," came Jay's response.

She nodded, picking up two of the pies. "It sure is."

Without one hitch, Arran leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, waiting with a much-too-relaxed air

for her liking. Very princely.

"Go for his face, Charlie!" came a call from the crowd.

"The hair! Get him on the hair, then it'll drip down his face!" cried another.

Man, these folks were ruthless.

Her gaze never left Arran's as she drew up to the throw line.

"Okay, y'all!" Charlie called back to the crowd. "How many of you will give an extra dollar if I hit him on the chin?"

Hands flew up.

"A dollar?" Arran shook his head as if unimpressed. "For this chin? It's worth much more than that."

She snorted out her laugh.

"What about the nose?" Charlie said back to the crowd.

"Two dollars!" someone called.

"Cheap." Arran scoffed, gesturing toward his face. "This is a royal nose."

She nearly lost the battle with her grin yet again. "Who's in for two dollars each if I get him on the nose and put this Mouthy

Monarch in his place?"

Arran's golden brows shot high at her moniker, but the crowd's approval roared.

"Let's not make this personal, Charlotte." His warm voice steeped over the night air, sending another temperature hike to

her cheeks. "Mouthy Monarch?"

"What about Royal Rogue?" She drew the first pie back.

"I think what you meant to say was Sexy Sovereign."

The comment shook her from her focus, and the pie didn't even make it to his shoe. Disappointment echoed from the crowd, despite

a few chuckles. In fact, Charlie had even laughed at that title.

Sexy? With his hair in all directions and melting cream dotting various spots of his blue shirt?

Her attention fixed on his strong shoulders and chest.

Okay, well, maybe sexy would work, but she wasn't about to admit it.

"How about Prince Nosebreaker?"

And, with his mouth wide in response, she released the other pie. It flew through the air and landed with a plop directly on Arran's face.

Applause and laughter exploded around them, and within a few minutes, Arran was released from his position as target practice.

As she approached him, her smile almost dissolved into another laugh. He wore an impenetrable grin, which failed to match

the rest of his pummeled self.

With great ceremony, he took his finger, wiped it alongside his face, and then licked the cream off. "I told you I like pie."

He shrugged a shoulder. "And it worked out well, didn't it?"

"For The Wish, yes." Her gaze skimmed down his front and back up as she tugged a towel off her shoulder. "For you? Not so

much."

"I have a pretty good track record of grand gestures to support charities. Well, in previous years. The past two haven't been

my best, but before then, I was often chosen to bring attention to things like this." He gave his brows a playful wiggle.

"And I don't mind being ridiculous."

"Clearly." She took the towel, wiped it across his chin, then held it out to him for more cleanup.

"But this was good. It reminded me of those times." His smile softened. He took the proffered towel and searched her face.

"So, are we even now?"

Even? What?

"You got to hit me in the nose too."

A large drop of cream took that opportunity to slide off his forehead and land on the end of his nose.

She looked heavenward, as if in thought. His request, his desire to make things right, somehow hitting her in the chest. With

a deep breath, she glanced back at him. "Yeah, I think we're even."

"Good." He pushed the towel across his face and into his hair.

"Eating that amount of humble pie should definitely earn some compassion points."

Arran's lips crooked. "We can be friends, then?" He offered his hand.

A friendship with a prince? She studied him a second and then sighed. "Sure." She took his hand, ignoring the tightening in her stomach while giving a nonchalant shrug. "Who doesn't want a royal friend to brag about now and again? Very make-believe."

"As you are painfully aware, I am not the fairy-tale sort." He stood up to his full height, tipping up his chin in regal fashion.

"But I have every hope of restoring my fairy-tale potential."

She rolled her eyes playfully as she turned and started walking toward the street. "Watch out, you're in the mountains. We're

not impressed with princes here." She looked over at him as he fell in step with her. "But folks who will suffer humiliation

for a good cause? Well, those kinds of heroes are worth having around."

"Good. I'll aim for that one, then." His expression softened with a gentler smile and he looked ahead. "So, tell me a little

more about this Mistletoe Wish."

***

Friends?

With a prince?

The idea sounded as preposterous as this list of items Ellie had sent her to purchase.

Teardrop earrings. Mary Jane pumps. Peplum-waist blouse.

Not to mention the makeup. Or undergarments.

A balconette? Her cheeks heated at the idea. What even was that?

And how on earth would a bra make a difference in Charlie's presentation abilities?

Charlie stood in front of the largest department store in Ransom a few days later, fighting the desire to run back home and

burrow deep into her baggy sweaters and worn-out jeans. The elegant crimson gown on display in the store window mocked her

plight.

Impossible.

"You'd look fantastic in that gown."

Charlie spun around to find Arran beside her staring at the window display.

"What?"

"The color and style are stunning for someone with your eyes and figure." He looked over at her as if he'd just said something

as flippant as the sky is blue . "Breathtaking, even. Are you considering it?"

She blinked over at him, trying to find her voice. "No, I'm not considering it." She waved toward the window. "Do you see the size of that skirt? I'd need mice, a pumpkin, and a fairy godmother to

justify wearing something like that. And I can't even imagine walking in it."

He looked at her, then back at the gown. "I believe your fear may be magnifying the dress in your mind. If you tried it on,

you—"

"Nope. I'm not here to purchase a ball gown for a party at the castle, Your Highness." She gave her head a strong shake. "Besides,

I've got enough to do already. I'm trying to sort out this list your sister sent me for my"—she made air quotes—"‘becoming

a lady' makeover. I think she made up the names for some of these things."

His lips lifted ever so slightly, and he sent a look down her body.

She'd never been so aware of the frayed edges of her baggy sweater and the tightness of her leggings in her life. Ugh. And

was she wearing tennis shoes with mismatching shoelaces? Heaven, help her!

"Ah yes. Ellie mentioned something about that while she prepared my own list." He held up a small piece of paper.

" Your list?" Charlie slid a step closer, trying to peer at his paper. Weren't his makeover items more like stay on the straight and narrow and work hard ? Because there was nothing wrong with his style. His pale blue polo and fitted jeans proved his list and hers were surely

very different.

"I need work clothes. Your cousin has kindly allowed me to borrow some of his for my first week on the job, but I've been tasked with purchasing some of my own today."

She blew out a long stream of air. "Oh, my list is so much harder than yours."

"Is it?"

"Are you kidding?" She snatched his paper from his hand and pointed to a few items. "Yes, see? You just need jeans, flannel

shirts, warm socks, boots, and gloves." She turned her paper toward him. "I have things like shoes with names and types of

hair clips and... wrap dresses."

His grin spread so wide, his cheek dimpled just a teensy bit and almost distracted her from her meltdown.

"What in the world is a wrap dress? Sounds like a present."

He leaned in close and wiggled his brows. "It may be, to the right guy."

She offered him a solid glare, despite the volcanic heat rushing to her face and an overwhelming need to laugh. "You just

spew charm, don't you?"

"I could spew worse, of which you've been victim."

Charlie's laugh burst out, followed by a horrifyingly impressive snort.

Arran's golden brows shot skyward, his lips breaking into a wicked grin.

"See? This is why I need a makeover. I can't snort-laugh in front of the mayor of Ransom!"

"You're having a makeover because of your snort-laugh?" The glint in his eyes was not helping her sense of mortification.

"It really wasn't that bad, Charlotte. My mum has an excellent snort-laugh, and she's queen."

"A snort-laugh is the least of my worries." Charlie sighed. "I'm not ready to present to donors and school boards and the bigwigs of the county. And I certainly can't show up like this." She sent a look down her super casual and not-at-all-classy outfit. "I mean, I'm glad Daddy taught me how to work hard and love people well, but not having a mom..." She cringed, looking up at him as if he'd understand. "I just feel like there were things I should have... things I ought to..."

"Working hard and loving people well are much more admirable qualities than which shoes to wear and when not to snort-laugh."

His gentle expression tightened the precarious friendship she'd reluctantly accepted from him. He drew in a breath and gestured

toward the front doors of the store. "What if we help each other out? After all, it's what friends do, right?"

"You'll help me with fashion ?" She tilted her head in challenge.

"I'm fairly good with knowing what looks nice on ladies."

She rolled her gaze to the black awning overhead. Sexy Sovereign, indeed. "Oh, I bet you are."

"Not in the way you're thinking." He shifted back into her line of vision, the pucker of his frown triggering her guilt. "It's

part of the world in which I live, where we pay attention to things like style and poise and appearances. That is what I mean." His deep blue gaze searched hers. "I've made a grand disaster of the last two years of my life, and I'm in

the process of my own makeover. It's not an easy plight, trying to dig oneself out of the ruin of one's own making."

The regret in his voice, the hurt in his eyes, nudged her a step forward. "I'm sorry, Arran." Her smile quivered wide. "If

the guy you used to be is like the one I've been getting to know over the past few days, then I think you're definitely moving

in the right direction. And if Ellie, Luke, and your parents believe in you, then you have a wealth of good support. I mean,

to get on Luke's good list speaks volumes."

"I think his kindness is more related to his love for my sister."

"Maybe a little, but not enough for him to take the extra time and consideration he has with you. To teach you? To offer you encouragement? He sees something good in you too."

His gaze searched her face—for what, she didn't know—and the look sent her heartbeat into a little faster rhythm. "Well, perhaps

I can show off a bit of my goodness right now, then?" He offered his arm. "What do you say we face the daunting department

store together?"

***

It had taken a half hour to convince Charlotte to accept his help and another to convince her to model some of the clothing

he'd encouraged her to try. At first she'd flat-out refused, turning every shade of red in the color wheel. But then, as he

listened to her fears and offered gentle suggestions, she'd agreed.

The awareness of her growing trust in him, of her faith in his opinions and presence, heightened his interest in helping her

even more, just as a friend ought to. And the idea of building her confidence and courage? It held a little "hero" in it.

"You were right! This suit really does look like something Princess Kate would wear," Charlotte called from inside the dressing

room. "Oh my goodness. I didn't realize I could dress like Princess Kate."

Arran lowered his mobile and stared at the closed door. Her little bits of pleased exclamations and communications added more

fun to the entire experience. She was utterly delightful.

"Are you going to let me see this one?"

Silence followed.

She'd refused to leave the dressing room for all the others.

"You're not allowed to laugh. The only thing you're allowed to do is say, ‘Yes, Charlie, you do look like Princess Kate.' Is that understood?"

He sat to attention, suppressing a grin. "I promise."

The changing room door creaked open, and Charlotte stepped out in the well-fitted navy suit. It was the first time Arran had

seen her soft brown hair flowing down around her shoulders.

She wobbled a tad in the navy heels and bit down on her bottom lip as she took a few unsure steps toward him.

He stood slowly, his grin refusing to remain subdued. "Charlotte, you look..." He almost said beautiful but then remembered his promise. "Like Princess Kate."

A fire lit her gray eyes, and she folded her arms across her chest, staring up at him from her spot a foot below. "Okay, seriously?"

"Seriously?" He gave her ensemble another assessing look. "It is an excellent look for you. Very flattering. But what do you think?"

"I like it." Her grin crinkled her nose, and she leaned forward. "A lot."

The glint of pleasure in those silver eyes held him in place for a moment. He rocked back a step. "As you should. And it will

be suit able for many different types of meetings." He winked. "I even think it makes you look taller."

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "For a prince, you're strangely normal sometimes." She gestured back toward the dressing

room. "I only have a few more items, and then we can find those boots you need at Weber's Footwear down the street."

He returned to his chair. "I'm in no hurry, Charlotte."

"I have these wrap dresses to try on, and then I'm done." She studied him again before stepping back into the changing room.

"I wish the right clothes could fix stage fright as easily as they change my appearance," she said from inside the room. "I

stumble all over myself."

"Part of presenting well has to do with practice, but the other part is caring about what you're saying. What sorts of presentations

are you supposed to give?"

"Three. One at a regional school employees' meeting, one at a fundraiser, and the other is"—she whimpered—"at the Mistletoe Gala, where I have to speak in front of important people who have contributed to the charity."

"It sounds like the perfect training ground."

A snort erupted from behind the door. "Are you always this blindly optimistic?"

"Only when I'm working with smart people who just need a little encouragement."

"Ah, and the charm rises to the challenge yet again." Her soft chuckle made it through the door and brought a smile to his

face.

"So, if you've helped with The Wish for so many years, what about it keeps you volunteering? Why does it matter so much to

you?"

Silence greeted his question before she answered.

"I've never really thought about why, except to help. I started volunteering when I was sixteen because one of my favorite

teachers told me they needed help. And when I experienced the joy of bringing Christmas gifts to these children... well,

I just never stopped volunteering."

"I think you have the beginnings of a speech right there."

"Really?" The door flew open, and she stepped out in a dark blue wrap dress, complete with simple yet fitting heels.

Definitely a gift for his eyes.

She walked forward, completely unaware of his appreciation for how the dress hugged her lovely frame. "I can talk about things

like that?"

The blue of the dress deepened the fascinating silver blue of her eyes, and Arran struggled to recall her question. "Um...

yes, of course." He stepped closer. "Also, I definitely believe you should purchase this dress."

"Thanks." Her smile softened as she stared up at him, another swell of pink deepening her cheeks. "I haven't been much of a dress girl in a long time, but this... well, this is nice."

Her declaration, paired with a few snippets of information he'd learned from Ellie and Luke, gnawed at the back of his mind.

He couldn't help feeling as if there was more to her story.

She moved back to the dressing room, but Arran continued the conversation.

"Did you mention before that the criterion for children to qualify for The Mistletoe Wish was to be part of a single-parent

home? And that many of the children you work with have a parent who is incarcerated or deceased?"

"Or... just left." Silence followed. "It's important that these kids don't feel forgotten. That they know people still

see them— really see them—even when it might look like they're doing just fine."

He mulled over her words. Hadn't Charlotte mentioned her own mother leaving? Arran's chest constricted.

Had she been one of those children who felt forgotten? Unseen?

Could her nondescript clothing and ball cap be a response to her past?

Arran paused on the thought. Maybe Charlotte had been like one of the kids he'd met in a school for which he was patron. The

young girl attempted to hide herself behind her hair or baggy clothes because she'd been hiding something much more painful

for a long time—a physical expression of a deeper hurt.

"Well, you have a speech half written, especially if experience has anything to do with it." Something in Arran's heart bent

at this new revelation. Did this lovely, tenderhearted, and strong woman realize she was worthy of being seen?

"I know you didn't come all the way over here to help me sort out my life, Arran." Charlotte emerged from the dressing room

in her leggings and sweater, the glow in her smile the loveliest thing she'd worn all afternoon. "But thank you for being

willing."

He grinned at the irony.

Perhaps, in the process of showing Charlotte who she truly was, he'd work a little of his own magic in rediscovering the man

he used to be.

"It's my pleasure, Charlotte." He met her smile with one of his own. "After all, what are friends for?"