Ten

"Well, I must say you handled your second presentation like a pro."

As Arran walked Charlotte to her truck, the wind blew the scents of popcorn from the theater behind them and pines that lined

the edges of town—a warm, wintry combination, if he thought about it. Stars twinkled in the early November night, blinking

high above the streetlamps as the sound of Christmas music filtered from the Ashby's open doors.

Partial anonymity and small-town life had settled over Arran like a warm blanket, and he tucked into it a little more each

day. Especially after these past few weeks with Charlotte.

It was a strange sort of thing, to feel unsettled yet energized by a woman. Over the past year, Arran had moved through relationships

like a carousel ride, from one woman to another without a future in mind. But now he knew his heart had never been made for

temporary.

He wanted forever.

Home .

"Thanks." She released a sigh as if she'd been holding it in the entire evening. "I had to look at you for moral support only

twice this time."

"As happy as I was to provide assistance, I consider your rescue of me tonight much more impressive than my menial assistance to you."

She squeezed close to his side, her arm linked through his. "It's a truth universally acknowledged that eighty percent of women, regardless of age, want to dance with a prince." She tipped her gaze skyward as if in thought. "Maybe ninety percent."

"And a few were hoping for more than a dance, from the way their hands—"

"Okay, we don't need to relive the antics of Arlene Green." Charlotte shook her head, her hair spun up in a beautiful array

of curls. "No one needs that mental image any longer than necessary."

"Or tactile experience." He shuddered, encouraging another chuckle from her. "So what is next on our list of duties?"

"Look at you," she cooed, a smile lighting her stormy eyes. "Embracing our little fundraiser with such enthusiasm."

"Being here has been a sobering lesson, but also a welcome reminder that life isn't made up of people who only want to use

me for my status or connections." He looked down at her, her apple scent slipping into his pulse with welcome familiarity.

"And I needed the reminder of how much I enjoy service and community. Shunning the two in my hurt proved a self-inflicting

wound."

"Service is a beautiful way to spend a life."

He studied her again. "But not a life for everyone."

"Because it requires sacrifice. And sacrifice, by definition, is hard, or at the very least uncomfortable." She gestured with

her head back behind them. "Like learning to speak in public."

His grin flashed wide. "But then there's the reward of discovering you have an innate talent for it, and..." He tipped

his head closer to those fascinating eyes. "The right heart."

She looked away. "I suppose some of the scariest things in life are the most rewarding?"

"Indeed. But then, we know where to look to face those fears." He placed his palm over her hand. "Take courage, dear heart."

She nodded, faced forward, and continued walking toward her truck, which was not too far in the distance now. "In answer to your question, before I derailed the conversation." She sent him an adorable wink. "Our next item of business is to make home visits to our list of children and then go shopping for them."

"Excellent." His steps took on an added bounce. "I've always loved purchasing gifts. It's as close to being Father Christmas

as I've ever come, except once, when I played the part for a charity back home."

Her lips pinched. "You don't strike me as the Father Christmas sort."

"Not jolly enough?"

Her gaze slid down him. "Yeah, that's it."

He couldn't help the crook to his lips then. Maybe she didn't mind reformed princes so much after all? He tugged her a little

closer.

In the Ashby, as he'd danced with Charlotte, a new awareness dawned: the way she relied on and even welcomed his support,

sought out his company, even the way the sweet blush slipping over her cheeks matched the hue of her lips. He hadn't wanted

a serious relationship in a long time, his heart too sore and broken to try. But Charlotte tempted him out of his self-imposed

exile. He wanted to be with her. To be a hero for her.

"We don't make such a bad team, do we?"

"Not at all." Her response arose in breathless form. "Even if it's not an expected team."

But sometimes the best things came quite unexpectedly, didn't they?

"And, despite your protests, you proved an excellent dancer."

"I grew up doing that kind of dancing." She gave her head a shake. "Not your kind of dancing. And I am nothing compared to you on the dance floor." Her grin resurfaced. "From the way you were moving to those bluegrass Christmas songs,

I'd say you're closing in on becoming a proper hillbilly."

"I feel certain a proper hillbilly would dance those jigs with much more assurance than me."

"Just using the word jig in a sentence is a step in the hillbilly direction." She grinned over at him, stopping beside her truck. "Though I hope you

don't go full hillbilly, ever ."

"Afraid of the power I would wield on the dance floor?"

Her laugh bubbled out across the night air. "Well, there is that." She chuckled, holding his gaze for a moment before looking away. "But it's more about your"—she frowned and waved

toward him—"gentle manliness that's... nice."

His brows rose." My gentle manliness?"

That silver gaze flicked back to his, a shy tilt to those lovely lashes. Heavens, the look invited him forward.

"Um... well..." She shifted a step away, her back almost making contact with her truck. "It's just that you don't treat

me like a coworker or tomboy." Her brows drew together. "You treat me like... a lady."

He studied her, the way the collar of her black coat caressed her smooth jaw, the way her hair swept in waves around her face,

the way her shoulders pulsed with her quickening breaths. He slipped a step closer. "You are a lady." His words barely pushed through his throat. "A beautiful lady."

Her gaze flashed to his. "You think I'm beautiful?"

How could she doubt? He turned to face her, drawing a pace nearer, desperate to convince her. "I've always thought you were

beautiful."

She swallowed, the faintest hitch in her breath teasing him closer, that quicksilver gaze dropping to his lips long enough

for him to notice.

"Charlotte." His palm came up to rest on the truck to one side of her shoulder. "You are one of the most genuinely beautiful

women I've ever met, from the heart out."

Her hand rested against his chest, fingers slipping beneath the lapel of his coat, encouraging him to breach the distance. His breath hitched as he halved the space between them, those pink lips promising him that kissing would be dangerous to his heart.

Wonderfully dangerous.

Her eyelids flickered closed, her breath warming his chin.

And, of course, a hero embraced the danger head-on—his grin tipped—or in this case, lips on.

"Whoa there, Prince. Are you... leaning?"

Arran jerked to a stop as Luke's laugh took on extra volume.

"You did not just use a reference to a rom-com, did you?" came Ellie's chuckled question. "Not my husband."

"It's one of the disgusting consequences of being around girls my whole life," came Luke's humored reply. "Don't get used

to it, Princess."

Charlotte kept her attention fastened on Arran, almost as if she waited for him to decide on the next move. Those eyes wouldn't

release him from their hold.

"I still see leaning in progress," came Luke's voice, nearer.

Arran lowered his head, inches from her. "Should we give your impish cousin the satisfaction of ruining this moment, Miss

Edgewood?"

Her breath caught, her attention dropping to his mouth and igniting all sorts of curiosities. With a slight twist to her lips,

she raised her gaze back to his. "Not a chance."

She shot him a wink, tightened her hold on his lapel, and drew him the short distance to her lips.

Have mercy! He wanted to keep her!

The kiss lasted only a moment.

Much too brief.

But enough of a taste to leave him wanting much more than a kiss.

He wanted her heart too.

***

Just a kiss.

That was all it had been.

And a little kiss too.

Charlie stifled a frown as she and Arran left another house after visiting a family on the Wish List. He hadn't mentioned

the little lip-on-lip moment, so she'd refrained as well. Of course, with the teasing Luke employed the rest of the evening—and

a few days later—maybe Arran wanted to forget all about it.

Or maybe he already had. After all, they'd kissed to spite Luke.

Hadn't they?

Heat rose up her neck at the tangible recollection of his mouth against hers and the way his palm slid up her back, surrounding

her in his comforting strength and his warm and wonderful cardamom scent. The cursory moment only awakened her aspirations

for another opportunity. If one small kiss left her quivering from the lips down, what would more thorough practice do?

Her cheeks flamed and she walked toward her truck, lost in a wonderful memory.

Maintain your composure, Charlie. It was just a kiss.

Nothing serious.

Just a kiss? When was a kiss ever just a kiss?

Her mind revolted against falling for the prince. But his teasing humor drew her in, and his kindness completely unraveled

every logical argument to steer clear.

Why on earth did they have to work together on something with "mistletoe" in the title? It just made things worse!

She caught him looking at her as they moved to the truck, his smile big enough to snag at her pulse. He had a fabulous grin.

Very Captain America–like.

Ack! Stop it, Charlie! You are becoming a lady. And drooling is definitely not ladylike.

No wonder his online history had a string of women in his wake.

Her body instantly cooled. Like her? Was she just another to fall under his charming spell as he traveled through whatever

healing process he was on?

Her eyes wilted closed. Of course! As good-intentioned as he may be, why on earth would he think twice about her beyond a

kiss or two? He was returning to his life as a prince ! Not taking up a goat farm in North Carolina. No matter how many jigs he danced.

Charlie took those crazy fairy-tale thoughts back in hand. So, Charlie, no more kissing the prince.

"There's only one more family on our list." A dimple flickered at the corner of his mouth, and the sight somehow sparked another

heat wave through her body.

Clearly, good sense was no match for a prince's kiss. She inwardly groaned.

Oh, why did she have to like him that way? If he'd stayed inebriated and nauseous, it would have been much easier not to like him.

"And who would that be?"

He looked down at his phone. "The Kevin Lindsey family?"

"Hmm... they live way back in the mountains. It might be something I should do on my own."

His expression asked an unvoiced question.

"Kevin is a good man, but he's a deep mountain man. Suspicious. Gruff." She put the truck in gear. "His wife has been in prison

for two years now because of drugs. And he's trying to do the best he can with their children, but his house... well, it's

backwoods. Primitive." She sighed. "I don't even know if they have running water."

Arran didn't respond immediately, forcing Charlie to send him a glance from her periphery.

"Do you suppose I've never seen poverty?"

His voice held no blame, but she felt guilty nonetheless. "Maybe not this kind."

She felt him studying her before he answered. "I am guilty of making wrong assumptions about Luke and his world when Ellie

became engaged to him, so I imagine there are some misconceptions about my world too." He paused. "The royal life isn't always

what people think or see on social media. Our responsibilities as servant leaders send us into some of the most vulnerable

populations of our country. Several communities within my oversight of Bredon and the Western Isles are a few of the poorest

in Skymar." His voice softened. "My father has been a good example of such tangible and person-driven leadership."

She turned up a road that would soon shift from pavement to gravel. "I can't imagine the weight of serving an entire country."

"You have the same heart of service, though."

His gentle encouragement pulled her gaze back to his.

There was no doubt Arran's life and hers had massive differences, but something about being the same at heart? Well, maybe

the variances in their worlds weren't so great after all.

Not where things mattered most.

Besides, if Ellie had proven Charlie's ideas about a princess wrong, why wouldn't Arran prove her ideas about princes as incorrect

too?

The road rose sharply ahead of them, large trenches from rainwater causing the truck to continue up the loose gravel at an

angle. Forest hemmed them in on either side, narrowing their view and the road even more.

"This is impressive," Arran murmured.

"If you call this impressive, then I'm about ready to knock your socks off." She slowed in preparation, as the next curve in the road would give them a view of the house. "This is family land. Kevin inherited it from his grandfather, so no matter how much people try to convince him to move down closer to the road, he's determined to stay."

The small wooden house, complete with a sagging front porch, came into view. It was nestled against the mountainside, and

chickens ran loose in the yard. As the truck approached, four hounds ran toward them, howling into the air.

Charlie killed the engine and turned to Arran. "Maybe you should wait here until they know who's visiting."

He tilted his head but didn't respond.

"In the mountains, folks are highly suspicious of strangers, and Kevin will know me. He respected my dad. Dad helped Kevin

put a new roof on his house a few years back."

And with that, she hopped from the truck, pulled her coat close around her, and marched toward the house, dodging the dogs

and chickens as she went.

***

Perhaps Arran's previous experiences hadn't fully prepared him for the poverty of Appalachia. The small ramshackle house looked

fragile, with trees crowding in on all sides. Despite the early afternoon time, the thickness of the forest gave the day a

later feel, evoking shadows within the layers of trees. Arran kept his focus on Charlotte as she dodged the dogs to make her

way forward, her loose hair swishing against the back of her new coat. He grinned. She'd even worn some ankle boots with her

jeans to dress them up a bit, he guessed. She absorbed Ellie's tips like the intelligent woman she was.

Charlotte had barely crested the porch steps when the front door of the house opened and the silhouette of a man filled the

threshold.

Was he holding a rifle in his hand?

After a brief exchange, Charlotte turned to Arran with a smile and waved him forward.

Despite the apparent fragility of the outside of the house, Arran stepped into a surprisingly cozy room. Warm too. Very warm.

A woodstove at one corner of the house proved the culprit. Dim lights glowed into a log-hewn walled living room, complete

with a couch, chairs, a small television, and a worn rug in the center. A small bookshelf sat nearby, cluttered with books

of various heights and levels of wear.

A movement from the couch pulled Arran's attention to two little girls, both with blonde hair, freckled faces, and big brown

eyes staring back at him.

"Kevin, this is my friend, Arran St. Clare."

The man, about the same height and build as Arran, studied him for a moment. Arran offered his hand, and with a slight hesitation,

the man took it.

"Kevin Lindsey."

"A pleasure to meet you, sir."

The man's brows crashed together. "You ain't from these parts."

"No, but I'm visiting family. My sister married Luke Edgewood—"

"You're kin to Luke." The man's expression cleared, and he gave a single nod as if that were enough. Mr. Lindsey turned and

gestured toward the chairs. "The girls is waiting for you."

"Thank you, Kevin." Charlotte smiled at him and led the way to the couch, nudging Arran toward the older of the two girls,

though neither looked over seven.

"That's Ginny," Charlotte whispered before sitting beside the younger girl.

"And I'm Mary," offered the elder, her wide eyes watching him closely as he took a seat near her.

"Hello, Mary. My name is Arran."

Her eyes grew wider. "Are you sure that's your true name, or are you joshin' me?"

"Very true." He pulled out his notebook and pen. "Is Mary your true name?"

"Nope. America is my whole name, but nobody calls me that 'cause it's a mouthful."

Arran grinned. "Well, I think both are fine names."

They chatted a little about Mary's school and friends, before Arran inquired after some of Mary's favorite things. The color

in the little girl's face deepened, and she looked away. "Uncle Roe says my fancies is silly."

"But if we're going to find the perfect Christmas presents for you, we have to know what you like." Arran leaned forward,

lowering his voice. "Even the silly ones. Though I'd reckon it's not as silly as you think."

Mary studied him, as if weighing his trustworthiness. Coming to some conclusion, she leaned forward, matching her volume to

his. "If you can, I'd like a purdy dress."

"A pretty dress?"

She nodded. "Like a princess. And some nice shoes to go with it too." She looked over her shoulder. "And I know y'all don't

get presents for the grown 'uns, but Daddy could do with some new work boots."

Arran's throat tightened at the tenderness of Mary's request. "I think we can do that."

Her grin spread to pinch into her cheeks. "You'll wrap 'em in a box and everything?"

"I will, and I'll even list you as the gift giver." He winked. "What do you say?"

Her shoulders squeezed with her silent giggle. "That's real good."

"Now, about this princess dress." Arran sobered his expression and raised his pen to the paper to communicate the importance of his question. "Do you have a certain color you'd like? Any ribbons for your hair? Or a crown?"

"A crown?" Her little mouth dropped open. "You reckon you could find one like Aurora has?"

"Aurora?" Was that one of her friends?

"From Sleeping Beauty ," Charlotte whispered to him, humor dancing in her eyes.

Sleeping Beauty? He raked his mind for a match. Was that the old cartoon Ellie used to watch, with the terrifying woman who wore black horns?

"She's got a gold crown and a pink dress," Mary clarified, before her smile spread wide again. "And she dances with Prince

Phillip. He has a horse named Samson."

Ah yes. And is there a dance in the forest? Arran's brain reached back for a foggy memory.

Mary tipped her head and studied him again. "You look a heap of a lot like him now, as I think 'bout it."

"Like the horse?"

Charlotte snorted to his left, but Arran maintained his attention on the little girl, who burst out laughing. "No, you don't

look nothin' like a horse. You look like Prince Phillip!"

"You think so?"

"You even got the pretty wave in your hair too."

Arran bit back a laugh. "An excellent trait of princes, I hear."

"What I wouldn't give to see a real prince, like Prince Phillip." Mary's nose wrinkled with her frown. "But Daddy says Santa don't go granting wishes like that.

And besides, Daddy says we ain't got no use for princes back here in the mountains."

Charlotte's struggle with her grin gave way to a cough, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"I asked for a prince for Christmas last year, and Miss Charlie said that's what she'd wished for when she was my age. But she had to find a new wish since Santa ain't bent on stealing perfectly fine princes from other people's houses and dropping them in the mountains."

With this, Charlotte's smile disappeared altogether, but Arran's took on an entirely new power.

One of Charlotte's childhood Christmas wishes had been for a prince?

Well, that little bit of information certainly deserved further investigation.

Perhaps—his smile stretched so wide, it pinched into his cheeks—Santa had been listening all along.

"I don't know about that. Perhaps there's a prince or two who need a good visit to the mountains in search of the perfect

princess?"

Charlotte sent him a look, and he merely raised his brows in response.

She quickly turned back to Ginny.

"Naw, that can't be so, Mr. Arran. Who'd go hiding a perfectly good princess back here in the mountains?"

"You never know, Mary." Arran leaned close, watching Mary's grin widen. "From my storybook reading, some of the best princesses

are found in the most unlikely places."

***

"Stop with the grin."

Charlie refused to look at Arran as they drove down the mountain from the Lindseys' house, her cheeks already on fire from

Mary's unintended revelation.

"Is my princely grin too much for you?"

"Arran." She pulled the truck to a stop, hoping her voice held more conviction than the laugh tickling her throat. "I'm not

against making a prince walk the rest of the way home."

"This little bit of knowledge is rather rewarding, though, Charlotte." One of his brows rose in unison with the corner of his smile as he tapped a finger to his lips. "May even prove Santa is still quite adept at his job, though a few years delayed."

"Oh, hush!" She made to punch him in the shoulder, but he caught her hand, all humor leaving his face.

"We could start with a date."

"A date?" Her bottom lip dropped. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, two people spending time together in a romantic sort of way, with the hope of spending more time together."

A tingling sensation rushed through her body. "You and me?"

"That would be my preference."

Her previous doubts resurfaced, and she sighed, slowly tugging her hand from his. "Arran, you're leaving in less than a month.

What could we possibly gain from becoming more than friends?"

"I've been told I'm a fairly good kisser."

Her attention dropped to his lips, and then... heat soared back into her face with volcanic fervor. "I have no doubt about

that, but what about after the kissing?" She sighed. "The little girl who wished for the prince wanted the happily-ever-after, too, not just the kisses."

Those blue eyes captured hers in the silence, his look so intense her breath caught in her chest.

"What if the prince wants the same thing?"

The low, gentle question hit her like an explosion. Every insecurity within her rose to battle against the sliver of hope

rallying to believe, to trust in the impossible.

He couldn't be serious. Not with her.

No matter what sorts of shoes she wore.

The truth still remained: she was a country girl with a broken past and a wounded heart, and he was an actual prince from

a faraway land.

"I'm not princess material." She looked away, her vision fogging a little. "And my heart isn't strong enough to take the chance that I'll fall in love with you, and then you'll realize I'm not the girl you want for ever after."

He began to speak, but she raised her palm. "Please, let's just enjoy this sweet and safe friendship we have until you head

back home. Could we do that?"

His gaze searched her face in the silence. Part of her wanted him to argue away her doubts and the other part of her was afraid

he'd try. Finally, he lowered his chin in assent.

"Aye, Charlotte," came his soft reply. "If you haven't the confidence to trust me with your heart, then I'll happily treasure

your friendship."