Page 70 of Mistletoe Season
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 aboutafterthe 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.”
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—couldhe?—offer her a dream that not only seemed impractical but completely impossible?
