She pressed a palm to her chest, rubbing at a sudden ache.
The wounds she carried through her childhood had soaked into the person she’d become. Self-doubt plagued her choices, as her mother’s condemning words loomed in the back of her mind. Even though she knew the truth, sometimes memory crowded out the truth...
And then she let insecurities win.
She looked down at her baggy sweatshirt and pants, a contrast to the new looks Ellie and Arran had introduced.
Sure, sweatshirts weren’t inherently bad. In fact, she liked them.
But had she also used them to “hide” herself? To keep from disappointing a possible suitor? To prevent failing? Was she afraid that if someone saw her as a viable dating option, he’d reject her because she wasn’t enough?
She flinched as a thought came to mind. Like her mother had.
Her gaze rose to meet the Arran on the screen. She understood heartbreak. Fear. “Pretending” in order to ease the pain.
This news about him hit her. Instead of raising all the red flags in her mind, it did the opposite. It touched all the bruised, lonely places in her heart from one walking-wounded to another.
Sure, his life was light-years different from hers, but maybe he wasn’t so different at the heart level. Perhaps he needed to know how beautiful a faithful and reformed heart truly was.
That he was seen too.
Eight
“I thought we could work in the dining room.” Arran followed Charlotte through the front door of her house. “We’ll have more space to go through everything.”
Her ball cap was pleasantly absent, and her hair fell in a long braid over her shoulder. Plus, she wore the fitted green sweater he’d picked out for her in the shop, along with a pair of her new jeans and new calf-high boots.
His grin tipped. Maybe she was starting to like this makeover a little bit.
Arran tugged off his jacket as they entered the dining room, papers scattered across an antique table. “What is all this?”
“Contacts, finances.” She sighed down into a chair. “A list of kids’ names from the past.”
He took a chair across from her, surveying the mess. “Is anything digital?”
Her eyes withered closed and she leaned forward, elbows on the table. “The previous organizer believed in the old-fashioned way of filing.”
Ah, a definite way to assist. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, to match her pose. “Well, tell me what we have here and what the schedule is, and then we can sort out how to manage it all. Create a spreadsheet, if necessary.”
“Wait a minute.” Her grin flickered. “I didn’t know royals used spreadsheets. Is that one of the courses you take in prince school?”
“Oh yes.” He curbed his smile into a thoughtful grimace, chin tipped. “Along with how to maintain unwavering posture, appropriate throat clearing...”
“How to style the perfect wave to your hair.” She gestured toward him.
“Most assuredly. Every prince in the movies has a perfect wave.”
At this Charlotte snort-laughed, and a warmth bloomed in his chest at the sound. “And, of course, various ways to fight dragons.”
His gaze caught hers. “And rescue damsels in distress.”
Her smile flared wide. “Well, then I can’t imagine younotbeing prepared to help with The Wish. You are fully qualified, especially for the rescue part.”
They spent the next half hour sorting the tangled information into manageable data. In the process, the sweet scent of apples kept distracting him.
Charlotte’s scent. And it suited her. Sweet with a little tang.
“So your first presentation is at the school meeting next week?” Arran asked.
