Eleven

The confidence to trust me with your heart.

The statement rolled around inside Charlie's head for the rest of the week.

Trust Arran? How could she trust him when she'd seen his trail of lady friends and knew his recent history?

Plus, he was a prince! Who was she kidding?

But her heart also knew the man from the headlines wasn't the same one she'd gotten to know over the past weeks. Ellie's own

professions confirmed it: the Arran from the past had resurfaced, healed and stronger than the one before.

And he was the Arran who'd been slowly weaving his way into Charlie's life and pulse and daydreams.

But her heart?

She pressed a fist to her chest, as if the motion might stop this tug toward him, toward the impossible. It was all well and

good for a little girl to imagine happily-ever-after, but real life proved the painful truth:

Some daydreams belonged just there... in her dreams.

Because they could never fit reality.

Besides, Arran hadn't broached the subject of dating again. Not when they'd gone shopping for some of the children's presents.

Not when they'd met at her house to discuss the Gala, not even when he'd walked her to her truck after another dinner at Luke

and Ellie's house.

Well, he hadn't asked her in words, anyway.

But those eyes. Something in them reached across the distance and beckoned her to change her mind. To give him a chance. To

believe in those stinking fairy tales again.

Why would God listen in on silly things like the Santa wishes of an eight-year-old little girl who desperately wanted to be

rescued from her heartbreak by a prince? She frowned. And she'd wished it again at nine. And ten. And maybe once more, very

secretly, at thirteen.

She pulled up to Granny and Papa Edgewood's house, parking beside the other vehicles crammed all over the yard. Her attention

moved heavenward, the warmth of the afternoon sunlight resting on her face like a little touch from her heavenly Father.

God cared for her. She'd wrestled through the knowledge years ago. But in his love, would he— could he?—offer her a dream that not only seemed impractical but completely impossible?

Her attention shifted to the Christmas wreath donning Granny Edgewood's front door.

Christmas.

The story of the impossible happening.

Her vision blurred a little.

Because of love.

Her chest squeezed, and she leaned her head against the steering wheel, digging her forehead into her knuckles.

But that couldn't mean the miracle would extend to Arran, could it?

She pinched her eyes more tightly. And what if she failed? Proved she couldn't fit into whatever life he lived? Or even disappointed

him to the point he rejected her?

Her stomach roiled with the struggle.

Was she brave... or insane enough... to fall in love with a prince?

Her truck door flew open.

"It's about time you showed up," Luke said, looking down at her with a ready twinkle in his eyes. "Folks have been waiting

for your mashed potatoes for a good fifteen minutes."

"Thanksgiving lunch doesn't start for another half hour!" she shot back, exaggerating her frown at him.

"There's already a line." He marched around the truck and opened the passenger door, pulling out the massive pot, still warm

from the stove. "And nobody wants to be the last for these." He raised the pot higher in the air in reference.

With an eye roll for his benefit, she followed him to the house.

"Besides, I thought I ought to give you some important news." The twitch of Luke's lips reflected his continued teasing, so

Charlie didn't feel obligated to respond. "You don't have to worry about any of the ladies at church stealing Arran anymore."

"I have not been worried about the ladies at church—"

"They've stopped following him around because they heard the rumors."

"The rumors?" She slowed her pace, staring so hard at the back of his head that he finally made a slow turn toward her. "What

rumors?"

His dark brows swung high in faux innocence. "That he's a taken man."

"Taken?" She edged a step toward him, a knot forming in her throat. "By who?"

Luke sent her a pointed look and resumed his walk.

"Me?" The word squeaked out as she rushed up the front porch steps behind him. She quickly lowered her voice. "You can't mean

me ? We've definitely not been on any dates!"

He paused in front of the door and looked down at her. "Folks are just calling it like they see it."

"Like they see it?" she asked, and then resumed the squeaking.

He breathed out a huge sigh, as if this were the most annoying thing he'd ever done in his whole life. "The googly eyes are

pretty obvious, Charlie."

"I am not sending him googly—"

"And the way you laugh when you're with him."

Her mouth dropped wide, but she rallied her wits. "You make me laugh, too, but I don't have sights to marry you ."

"I make you laugh like you're in pain." He pinned her with a look. " He makes you laugh like you like him. It's different."

"I'm not having this conversation with you." She gave her head a hearty shake and moved toward the door. "He's a prince ."

And that should end the argument.

"Wimp," came Luke's low challenge.

She pivoted toward him, hands on her hips. "Wimp?"

"You're objecting to a future with a good guy because he's a prince?" He shrugged one of those massive shoulders of his. "The

poor guy can't help it, Charlie."

"I'm not objecting to him . I'm objecting to me being with him."

He relaxed back against the porch wall, pot in hand, and stared down at her. "Why?"

She paused, cutting her gaze up to her cousin. "Luke."

"Seriously, why? If he's looking for someone who's smart and kind and hardworking with a sassy sense of humor, then you're

a great choice."

She gestured toward the door. "He's a prince !"

"And he's a man looking for the right woman."

"Maybe. But I could never be like the dozens of posh women he's dated in the past." The admission squeezed through her throat.

"I can assure you he's smartened up since then, and he isn't looking for a repeat of his past."

"I'm no princess, Luke." Why did the admission hurt so much?

"Okay, so now we get to it." Luke released a long breath. "I understand, Charlie. If anyone in this entire family gets it,

it's me. I argued the whole thing in my head too. Not fit to be married to a royal. Don't want to be a part of the royal life. No way Ellie would ever really want someone like

me at her side ."

Statements she'd been making to herself since the date offer in the truck on the mountain.

"But here's the truth of it," he continued. "Prince or pauper, the right woman for the right man will make all the hard-to-figure-out

stuff work." He stepped closer, the corner of his mouth tugged up. "My life isn't going to look like I'd planned. It's going

to be better. Harder, but better, because Ellie is worth the risk." He searched her face. "And so are you."

She was quiet for a moment, afraid to embrace the hope he peddled. "But you... you already knew how to do royal things

like dance and wear nice clothes."

His exaggerated eye roll wasn't comforting. "You're learning how to dance and wear nice clothes, and you have the smarts to figure out the rest. But you already have what you need most

for any man." He tipped closer. "Your heart."

The bridge of her nose tingled, and she swallowed the rising lump in her throat. "What if I'm not enough?"

His entire expression softened. "What if you're much more than enough?"

Her bottom lip quivered, so she bit it.

"Charlie." He looked down at her with such brotherly tenderness that the tingling in her nose spread to her eyes... and

inspired leaking. "Just because your mama had a broken perspective about you doesn't mean Arran does. In fact, I'd say you've

done a whole lot to get his perspective on the right track, which only proves he's smarter than he looks."

A weak laugh limped out of her mouth.

"Only you can decide whether whatever is going on between you two is worth all the hard stuff. But you are just as equipped

to handle their crazy lives as I am." His grin twitched. "Now doesn't that make you feel better?"

"Loads." She shook her head and stared at the wreath on the front door.

The impossible?

"Why does Granny always decorate for Christmas the week of Thanksgiving?" Charlie rubbed at her nose, the topic change giving

her swelling emotions a small reprieve. "Give Thanksgiving a chance!"

"Why do you ask questions as if they matter to Granny?"

"You're right." She reached for the door handle. "What was I thinking?"

"Just so you know, Arran is loving all the Edgewood insanity, which may prove he's not so smart." Luke gestured with his chin

toward the door. "I thought our family would overwhelm his princely sensitivities, but he's jumped right in to play American

football with the guys in the backyard. Even took on Uncle Tate in an arm-wrestling competition."

Charlie paused her forward motion. "Who won?"

"Uncle Tate." Luke leaned close with a wink. "But Arran let him. Anybody who can do stonework like him is going to beat an

eighty-three-year-old couch potato."

Charlie laughed and entered the bedlam, a dozen women welcoming her with grand gestures and "Where have you been?" Children

dashed here and there, laughter bubbled from various Christmas-decorated corners, while a couple of men shouted at the football

game on the television in the den.

This was her family.

The least crazy side.

She'd just finished setting up the drink table when the back door opened, spilling a dozen men and kids into the house. Definitely the group playing football, from the looks of their clothes.

And then Arran walked in behind her cousin Jake, and all those mental gymnastics she'd been practicing about how they shouldn't

be together died in her head.

His hair was a mess, he had dirt stains down one side of his body, and the grin he wore gave him an odd mixture of guy-next-door

and Prince Charming. He made some sort of comment to Jake, which had Jake laughing, then Arran looked up... and his gaze

found hers.

Her heart flip-flopped and, maybe, she smiled. Maybe. Whatever. Her expression, if it reflected her current feelings, may

have looked a little like Luke when he'd picked up her mashed potatoes from the truck.

Evidently Arran read nonverbal communication pretty well, because he crossed the room to her as if she'd verbally called him

forward.

Calm down, Charlie. Breathe.

She met him halfway, dodging a few people and pieces of furniture along the way.

"It looks like the ground won the game." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorframe separating

the den from the massive family room. Her gaze made a pointed review of his current ruffled state.

"It's nothing to rugby." He leaned in and wiggled his brows, catching her breath with his sudden nearness. "And I made two

touchdowns."

"Impressive." She picked a piece of dirt off his shoulder and flicked it at him. "Your talent knows no bounds."

He narrowed his eyes, his lips tipping into a smirk. "You haven't really investigated my best talents, but I'm not averse if you'd like to rethink the date option." Her hesitation drew him nearer, all humor fleeing his expression. He searched her face. "I may surprise you."

He already had. Over and over again.

"Woo-hoo, y'all! We got a couple in the hot spot."

Charlie blinked out of her Arran-filled daze and turned toward her aunt Pru, who was gesturing for folks to gather round.

Why was everyone staring at them?

"Oh, Charlie! It's like the perfect movie moment," came her cousin Penelope's squeal.

What on earth?

"Well, you might as well get on with it so the rest of us can start eating," said Papa Edgewood, his grumpy words defying

the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Charlie followed her papa's gaze to the clump of greenery poised on the doorframe above her.

Her stomach dropped.

Mistletoe.

Calls of encouragement rang out from the crowd like the wild clan they were. She looked over at Arran to apologize, but his

raised brow seemed to offer the same encouragement as the rowdy bunch calling for a kiss.

Blast Granny and her early Christmas decorating.

"Don't be yella, Arran!" someone called.

Laughs erupted around them, inciting whole new levels of scorching to Charlie's cheeks.

"What do you say, Charlotte?" Arran's voice scooped low to cradle her name before he gestured with his gaze upward. "For tradition's

sake?"

Again, her face must have said things her brain didn't even know yet, because Arran slid a palm around her waist, tugging

her a teensy bit closer. Her breath trembled at his touch, from his nearness.

And, if she was being honest, from a whole lot of anticipation.

With only a pause to look into her eyes, he captured her mouth with his.

The confident touch, soft yet in control, blurred the rising calls of her crazy family. His hand slid up her back, bracing

her, his lips offering a longer and gentler caress than the brief time before.

Her palm instinctively rose to his cheek, a hint of stubble tickling her skin. She embraced the safe feel of his arms around

her, the easy confidence in his kiss, the intimate trail of his lips skating over hers only to press in for a bolder taste.

Have mercy! A prince's kiss was all she'd imagined and so much more.

He drew back, his gaze searching hers as the sounds around them exploded with a mixture of "Gross!" from a couple of little

boys, "It's about time!" from someone who sounded suspiciously like Luke, and "Now, let's eat!" from Papa.

With a careful touch to her arm, Arran guided her away from the hungry crowd, out the back door of the house. It was a good

thing his brain was in working order because she left hers under the mistletoe.

"I know this"—he waved between them—"is complicated."

She blinked up at him, gathering whatever wits still remained in close proximity. "You think?"

Two words. Somewhat clearly spoken. She was rather proud of herself after being kissed into a brain blur.

"Do you think we could try to figure this out together? No strings?" His palms slid down her arms, inciting another desire

for her to step closer. "Just... discover if what is happening between the two of us could prove worth the sorting?"

The warmth in her eyes puddled just a little. "No strings?"

He gave his head a small shake. "Unless you find you want them. I fear my heart is already entangled."

Her jaw slacked a tiny bit.

Could this be... real?

She pushed the fear of all the what-ifs away and focused on his face. The hope in his expression, the tenderness in his voice,

pushed her heart forward a baby step. "The Christmas parade and tree lighting in downtown Ransom is on Saturday. That would

make a really nice first date."

His expression gentled into the sweetest smile. "Sounds perfect."

***

She'd worn red.

Beneath a long black coat, the red turtleneck peeked out, adding color to Charlotte's face and drawing attention to her lips—an

unneeded, though not unwelcome, reminder of her kiss.

Arran had doubted the readiness of his heart to ever love again, but as he and Charlotte walked along the quaint downtown

of Ransom, Christmas decorations donning lampposts and storefronts, he welcomed the possibility.

The hope.

Yet this time something deeper wrapped 'round the feelings. Was it a better understanding of himself? An awareness that Charlotte's

personality and compassion fit his life better than Angelica ever could?

He'd taken two years to work up the courage to ask Angelica to marry him. Agonized over it, as if he'd somehow known, deep

in his heart, she'd never been the right one for him.

And here, within weeks of meeting Charlotte, he was ready to dive into forever.

Working so closely with her over the past few weeks, both in the day job and with The Wish, only secured his desire even more.

So fast. So certain.

Perhaps a second love afforded unique clarity a first love could not.

Clarity... and courage?

"Just wait until it gets dark enough for all the lights to come on," Charlotte said, staring at a bookshop's decorated front.

"It's absolutely magical."

Her upturned face, the way she'd worn her hair down and loose, the warmth of her arm in his...

"I have no doubt."

Her attention caught in his, and her cheeks darkened. "You'd better tone down the sweetness, Your Highness. I might get used

to it."

"Shouldn't you like getting used to it?" He looked ahead, squeezing her arm closer to his side, breathing in the chilly December

air.

"I don't know." She glanced up at him, her smile uncertain. "I haven't had a great deal of experience with it."

"Perhaps I can take the next few weeks to help you acclimate. You may find you like it so well, you won't be able to do without."

She slowed her pace to a stop. "You're highly confident in your skills, are you?"

"More hopeful than confident, I think."

Her smile bloomed, and she resumed the walk, shaking her head. "I don't see how you and I—"

"Instead of rushing ahead into all the impossibilities of it, what if we just enjoy each other's company? We can sort out

all the particulars as we go."

"Alright." She drew in a breath. "I'll just enjoy being on the arm of a... prince." She laughed. "It's surreal."

"Well, I would prefer if you liked the man a bit more than the title."

She paused again, turning to face him, her expression sobering. "The title is too intimidating to think about, so I'll just stick with liking the man."

They walked a little farther, afternoon light fading into dusk with each step. One by one, white lights blinked awake. Twisted

around lampposts, lining storefront windows, strung along awnings. All leading in starlit wonder to the center of the town,

where an enormous decorated but darkened tree stood.

"Do they have small-town decorations like this in Skymar?"

He scanned the setting. "Similar, yes, though this display has more charm than most I've seen back home."

"You probably don't celebrate in small towns." Her comment held humor and curiosity.

"The country estate house near Crieff affords my family more of the small-town charm, but Christmas is usually most regally

celebrated at my parents' main residence of Carlstern Castle. It's the location of the Annual Christmas Banquet in which our

family, extended and all, dine together in grand fare. Then we walk out onto the balcony of the castle as the royal decorations

in the courtyard are lit and the Christmas Banquet begins."

"It sounds exhausting."

"It is exhausting." He laughed. "But it's also very special. Thankfully, the banquet is an intimate affair of only fifty or so people."

"Yep. That sounds about as ‘intimate'"—she made air quotes—"an affair as our family get-togethers, except with less football

and more table manners."

"I'll not deny it is a grand experience." He turned her way. "And, as it happens, my father's birthday celebration is usually

that week as well. But Mother contacted Ellie and I last night with the news that Father's celebration has been moved up to

next weekend. On Father's actual birthday my sister-in-law's third child is being induced early, as a result of some minor

complications."

"Oh." Charlotte's brow creased. "Then you'll miss the Gala."

Breath pushed from his lungs like a blow. "Charlotte, I didn't even realize." He squeezed his eyes closed and groaned. "Well, then I can just celebrate with my father later in the month—"

"No! You are not going to miss the king's birthday just because of this small-town gala." She frowned and tugged their linked arms forward.

"Charlotte." He paused their forward motion, searching her face, which had become more endearing with each passing day. "I

will not have you thinking I take you or my commitments lightly. Perhaps six months ago, but not now and not with you." Arran

shrugged. "Father has enough family to surround him that day, anyway. What is one less prince?"

"I think it would do his heart good to see how well his youngest is doing, Arran." She smiled up at him, her large eyes reflecting

such admiration despite his declaration that he leaned over and tasted those lips of hers.

"You are simply marvelous, Charlotte Edgewood."

She gave her head a little shake and laughed. "This... this is just crazy, Arran. Guys don't talk to me the way you talk

to me."

"Then they've not been the right guys."

Her gaze found his again, searching. "Maybe." Her lips pulled into a smirk as her eyes narrowed. "Or maybe you're just trying

to make up for leaving me all on my own at the Gala."

"Oh, I'm staying." His arms slipped around her waist. "I can't have you thinking I'm a fair-weather prince."

Her laugh warmed the air between them. "I think you're proving much more than that." She sobered. "But I'm serious: go be

with your family. It's the right thing to do. I... I'll be okay." She sighed. "Though I may video-call you during my speech

so I can draw from your courage."

"You have courage enough, darling. You only want confidence, but I am certain you will shine because you speak from your heart." He squeezed her close. "Though I assure you I'll take any excuse for a video call."

They walked up to the large tree in the center of town where dozens of people were gathered, most in winter hats, children

on their dads' shoulders, young couples sipping warm beverages and cuddling close.

The mayor stood on a stand placed in front of the tree and proceeded to greet everyone, thanking them for coming to the fifty-second

annual Christmas tree lighting in Ransom.

Charlotte pressed in close to his side. Her small frame fit so nicely there. Perfect, actually.

With encouragement from the mayor, the crowd began the countdown at ten.

Children jumped to chant the numbers, their eyes lit with anticipation.

Three... Two... One!

From bottom to top, the tree blazed alight, ending with an explosion of illumination from the massive star. The crowd erupted

in celebration. Charlotte leaned her head against his chest with a sigh, and the feeling settled into his heart with certainty.

For the first time in a very long time, he made a Christmas wish.

That Charlotte Edgewood would believe in fairy tales again.

And that he would be her happily-ever-after.