“Yeah.” Luke offered a one-shouldered shrug. “It took him weeks to find it, and with his connections, that’s saying something.”
All the jumbled desires and feelings within her warred for a victor. Her eyes burned as she sniffled.
“Now don’t go messing up your makeup.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “You don’t have time to fix it.”
She took the handkerchief and gently dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“Yeah, maybe a picture is worth a thousand words after all.”
She nailed him with a humorless stare. “Does your poetic side rise to battle emotional women or something?”
“Maybe.” He grinned. “Or maybe there’s a Renaissance man beneath all this grumpiness, just waiting to get out.”
She laughed through another sniffle and ran a hand down the frame of the painting.
“But seriously, Charlie, he’s a good guy. Even if he’s a prince.” Luke’s grin sobered. “And I think that if you don’t fight for your own fairy tale, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
The words reverberated through her, but she fought against the tug. “I can’t even believe you said that out loud.”
“I probably got it from one of those silly Christmas romance movies Ellie’s had on replay for the past three weeks.” His shoulders slumped with a sigh. “She’s promised her TV consumption will go back to normal after Christmas, but I’m afraid the Hallmark chime has destroyed her common sense.”
Charlie chuckled again, her attention dropping back to the painting. “I thought choosing love was supposed to be easy.”
“Easy?” Luke stared down at her, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Which fairy tale says that?”
“You’re right.” She offered a helpless wave of her arms and smiled. “Love never came easily in the fairy tales, did it?”
“And it usually took a whole lot of courage to make it to the happy ending.” Luke shook his head. “From what I hear. Not that I’ve read any.”
“Of course not.” She offered another eye roll.
With a grin, Luke offered his arm. “You ready?”
His question dug deeper than a simple step from her house to his car. It prodded a choice she didn’t fully know whether she had the courage to make.
She glanced back at the painting and slid her arm through his, embracing the possibility. “I am.”
***
The turnout for the Mistletoe Gala proved the largest in Ransom’s history. Three hundred folks filled the banquet room of The Avenue Hotel, the ballroom adorned with greenery and lights, and a massive Christmas tree in one corner.
Charlie had survived—and eventhrived—as the coordinator for such a large event.
She wasn’t the same person she’d been before.
And no, it wasn’t the gown or the makeup, though she’d learned to appreciate those at times. The change ran deeper. And some of that change had to do with Arran.
As Charlie took the stage, familiar smiles greeted her from the crowd. Grace Mitchell and her family. Several of the top donors. The entire rowdy clan of Edgewoods. Then her attention fastened on Kevin Lindsey and his two girls.
Her vision blurred for a second, but she cleared her throat and stepped to the microphone.Number one:gratitude and/or welcome.
“This has been the best and biggest year of The Mistletoe Wish, and it is all because of you.” She continued, calling out certain sponsors, donors, and volunteers, the joy among the crowd spilling over in laughter, smiles, and applause. But that’s how gratitude seemed to work: in a contagious sort of way.
Number two: acknowledge the story.
“The Mistletoe Wish began as a Christmas fundraiser because of the season we celebrate this time of year—a season of commemorating how love came to earth and inspired a contagion of joy, hope, generosity, and love throughout the centuries.”
She smiled at the crowd, bringing them along with her. “The volunteers of The Mistletoe Wish desire to bring joy through generosity to the families we serve, but more than anything, we hope to shinea little of God’s love into their lives. Because love gives us a sense of worth, and that worth inspires courage.”
