Nine

Charlie saw Arran standing on the porch of Luke and Ellie's sprawling log house, his blue button-up and jeans proving he'd

probably just gotten home from church too. Her pulse gave an appreciative upswing at the sight of him. Of course, that morning

in church she'd been called to appreciate God's creation, so...

Good job on that one, God. Stellar, even.

And then he smiled as he walked toward her truck, and the "Hallelujah Chorus" rushed to mind, unbidden.

She looked down at her purse to gather her emotions. Just because he'd improved exponentially upon further acquaintance didn't

mean she needed to get all googly-eyed over some prince who was headed back to his country in a little over a month.

A prince!

Silly really.

Ridiculous.

But something had changed in their friendship after their meeting at her house.

A tender understanding.

After what she'd discovered about him from Ellie's comments and her online search, maybe he understood her struggles a little more than she could have imagined. How surreal not only to have casual and not-so-casual conversations with a prince but to connect with him at such a very real heart level. In those conversations... well, he hadn't seemed so much like a prince as much as just a regular guy. Struggling, searching, hoping like a normal person.

Except he smelled like cardamom, had a distractingly lovely accent, and looked like a blonder Chris Evans.

Which was not her usual "guy group" of sweaty carpenters who tended to speak in partial sentences using sports references.

Her grin tipped. Well, not all of them. Just the majority.

He opened her truck door, and that blue gaze trailed down her and back, appreciation lighting his eyes.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

He offered his hand. "The brown skirt and blue wrap blouse, Miss Edgewood?"

"Too much?" She cringed. "It is, isn't it?"

"Not at all." One corner of his mouth rose as his gaze took another sweep of her. "Certainly a gift for all who saw you this

morning, I'd imagine, but..." His gaze moved back to hers. "You look lovely in a ball cap and jeans. The real question

is, what do you think?"

He said this nonchalantly, as if the phrase "you look lovely in a ball cap and jeans" didn't just pause her brain from all

ability to respond for five seconds. "Seriously? This"—she waved to the outfit—"compared to my ball cap?"

"I do prefer seeing your hair, because it's beautiful, and you certainly don't hurt my feelings by showing off your figure."

His lips quirked, an added glimmer in his eyes, which lit a responsive fire on her face. "But hopefully, we've become good

enough friends that I already know you're beautiful in all the ways that matter most. This is only an added bonus if you like it, because then you'll wear it with confidence. And that's what other professionals will see."

Ah, professionals. He wasn't attracted to her.

The realization doused all the previous heat from her cheeks. Not that she should be surprised, of course. It was very practical of her to keep her thoughts in the professional-friendship realm too. Very practical.

"I'm getting used to it." She released his hand as her feet hit the ground. "I mean, it's not bad."

"No." He shook his head, the soft tone in his voice drawing her attention back to his face. He stared at her a moment longer

and then drew in a breath. "Not at all."

Okay, so... maybe he felt a little attraction? That was good. She didn't need any more from him than a little, because the idea of "a little" was already causing

her relatively functioning brain to shut down.

And reforming all her previous misconceptions about princes and romance.

Or maybe not reforming so much as reminding ?

She cleared her throat and looked toward the house. "But I don't understand how clothes can cause such a stir at church. It's

not like half the people haven't known me my whole life."

He raised a teasing brow. "You were attacked by the southern mothers, were you?"

"I'm duly chastised for responding so sarcastically to your previous introduction to them."

He studied her face in the same way he'd done at her house the other night: carefully, intensely, as if he read all her current

fuzzy thoughts. "Well, I'm glad to know your wardrobe updates caught their attention enough to realize you are worth seeing."

He leaned close, his gaze soft. "Though they should have noticed all along, in my opinion. But none of us are without our

own particular blindness at times, are we? And sometimes it may take a shock to get our attention to see properly."

She slowed her pace. His subtle reference to his own behavior reignited her connection to him. Well, it was safe to say the last few weeks had certainly shocked her attention in his direction. And she couldn't seem to stop paying attention to him or seeking out his company.

But it was an interest doomed to failure.

She was not princess material. She'd just started wearing heels, for heaven's sake! Weren't princesses born in heels? But there was something

way too attractive about a repentant man who treated a woman like a... lady.

Case in point: Instead of both trying to fit up the porch stairs, he gestured for her to take them first. She sighed. Her

dad had been a good man. Kind. Strong. Gentle in his own way, but a mountain man who wasn't prone to holding doors and caring

much for frills or lace.

And the few guys she'd dated over the past years hadn't really shown those qualities either.

Arran's care and consideration felt... nice.

She stood up a little straighter, turning back to him as he crested the steps. "So... I finished my speech last night."

"And you've brought it with you?" His smile held only encouragement.

"Well, you'd mentioned maybe going over it before I present tomorrow."

He grinned as he reached around her for the front door. "Of course, you can practice in front of Ellie, Luke, and me."

All heat left her face. "Arran, I... I..."

"Wouldn't you prefer a familiar audience on whom to work out any difficulties rather than an unfamiliar one?"

She searched his face, squeezing the strap of her purse until her fingers pinched.

"You're going to do better than you think. Today and tomorrow." He placed a gentle palm to her arm, his words soft. "I'm sure of it."

"And if you're wrong?" She forced more confidence into her voice than she felt.

He squinted upward in thought, but his lips seemed to wrestle with a smile before he looked back down at her. "You can throw

more pies at me."

Her shoulders shook with a sudden laugh. "Deal."

***

Arran slid into a seat in the front row within the large auditorium of the school, the venue more expansive than he'd expected.

Nothing too intimidating for an experienced presenter, but for her? Well, he wished he'd thought of giving her a few more

tips.

The fact that she'd invited him to join her for her first big presentation encouraged his protectiveness.

As if she not only wanted him there but even garnered a little confidence from his presence. The idea somehow fortified a

bit of his own confidence that he hadn't failed beyond hope in regaining her trust.

Plus she'd worn her navy suit.

And she hadn't wobbled one bit in those heels either.

Something about knowing her insecurities and watching her push beyond them increased his pride in her and his protective instinct

all the more. If he could be one cog in the larger workings to help her see her own worth, then he'd certainly take this entire

North Carolinian sabbatical as a win.

But it had already been much more. Heart-changing more.

He tapped his finger against his lips, his smile growing.

After the head of the school board welcomed everyone and reviewed a few housekeeping items for their continuing education

day, he introduced Charlotte and ushered her forward.

She walked to the lectern, shoulders a little bent, her lips pinched in a frown.

Arran folded his hands on his lap, squeezing his fingers together.

Smile, Charlotte. You've got this.

She took to the lectern and stared out into the crowd, her face much paler than her usual complexion.

"Good morning."

Her volume barely dented the vast space. Those eyes shot a frantic search through the crowd and finally found him, her gaze

locking to his.

He pushed up a reassuring smile and gestured for her to move closer to the microphone.

With a slight nod and the tiniest smile, she complied.

"Thank you for the opportunity to speak to you today." She halted and swallowed, but her volume came with more authority.

"Have any of you ever wanted to make someone's wish come true? Especially a child's? My name is Charlie Edgewood, and this

year I am the coordinator for The Mistletoe Wish." She cleared her throat a little too close to the microphone, and her eyes

widened in horror, her gaze finding his again.

He gently shook his head, hopefully communicating it was no big deal.

"I appreciate the opportunity today to help you learn how..."

She paused, her smile dying on her face as her attention roved the crowd. The pause grew longer.

Oh no! She was freezing up.

He released a cough, gaining her attention, and with a subtle move of his hand, he raised two fingers.

Point two. The story.

Her gaze dropped to his fingers, and then the most beautiful smile dawned on her face. She rested her palms on the lectern, which adjusted her posture to a more confident stance, and drew in a deep breath. "I know the value of The Mistletoe Wish because I was one of those children who desperately needed a wish to come true."

And on she went, glancing at him occasionally. With each shared smile, her body relaxed even more, her presentation stronger.

She ended by inviting teachers, social workers, and administrators to contact her if they knew of any families within their

schools who could benefit from The Mistletoe Wish, and even introduced Arran as her assistant.

A moniker he'd never held before, but undoubtedly one of his proudest.

Applause followed her as she exited the stage. He met her at the side door of the school, her pace almost at a run.

As soon as they made it outside, she turned to him. "Did I ruin it?"

"What?" He caught her in a stumble, placing a hand on her arm. "Of course not. You were great."

"I froze." Her brow puckered with her frown. "I looked out into the dark crowd and my mind went blank. If you hadn't—"

"But you brought it back together and ended splendidly." He gave her arm a little squeeze. "So next time, at the Ashby, you'll

feel more comfortable."

"And I'll just envision you in the front row holding up two fingers." Her frown gave way to a smile. "Actually, that might

help a lot. It's a good distraction."

He leaned in and gave his brows a shake. "I'm a distraction, am I?"

She narrowed her eyes, fully recovered from her discomfort. "Not enough to distract me from finding food right now. I'm starving."

"Sometimes we rescue the princess from dragons, and other times from hunger." He offered his arm. "Let's find you some food so that I won't have to compete with your stomach."

When she slid her arm through his, Arran realized two things:

His heart wasn't broken anymore, because he fancied Charlotte Edgewood.

And it was an impossible romance.

Why would she ever fall for a very imperfect prince?