Page 34 of Charlotte's Story
“That looks like the one in your house,” I said, offering a tentative truce to the silence.
“Yes, it does.” He smiled sadly. “My father’s specialty was with wood, and he loved carving things.” William ran a finger lightly over the ornament, then hung it up. “The chair in my house is one of the few things I have left of him.”
“Oh,” I said softly. “Do you have anything of your mother’s?”
He hung a few ornaments in silence. “My silver tongue and my autism.”
I blinked and all the pieces clicked into place. It was like finally finding the right scents to combine for a candle. There were so many signs of his autism, like his need for routine, the way he wanted things a certain way, his discomfort with eye contact or clothes that weren’t soft enough. And then there was how he noticed everything. How deeply he cared. His straightforward earnestness. But his other comment brought up a slew of questions.
“What’s your silver tongue?” I asked.
He sighed. “It’s a fae ability that helps with smoothing things over, saying the right thing, or getting people to do what you want. I’ve never been good at it as it doesn’t mesh with how my brain works. I tend to say things that are technically true but contextually... unhelpful. And I often offend people without even knowing why.”
“I like your compliments,” I said. “They’re heartfelt.”
“Thank you.” He strung up another ornament.
“You mentioned your mother died when you were young”—I unwrapped a string of lights and began to wind it around the tree—“was it a sickness?”
“Something like that.” His jaw clenched again, then he ran a hand through his hair. “She was killed by a vampire.”
“I’m so sorry.” I gave his hand a quick squeeze, then let go, busying myself with finding another ornament. It was a small silver bell that ChiyoObasancalled her laughing bell because it only rang when someone was truly happy.
“It’s okay.” He sighed and hung a collection of candy canes that glowed different colors on the tree.
“Is that…” I chewed my lip, unsure if I should continue.
“What is it?” William glanced at me.
“Is that why you don’t like other Marked races?” I let the words spill from me like water trickling over rocks in a stream.
He froze, fingers tightening around one of the glowing candy canes. His thumb rubbed up and down as if the smooth plastic texture grounded him. “I suppose that didn’t help. And once both my parents were gone, Lady Catherine took me in. She’s a firm believer in the superiority of fae, and I suppose it sort of rubbed off on me.” He frowned slightly, as if trying to choose the exact right phrasing. “But that was—I mean, I’m aware now that people have value beyond… beyond structure or rank. I didn’t always see it, but I’m learning.” He looked at me, then quickly away again. “You’re helping with that.”
I gave him a soft smile.
“Lady Catherine paid to support me until I was old enough to be on my own, even funding my education. I owe her a lot. It’s thanks to her urging that I joined the church and decided to become a pastor. I don’t like crowds, but even still, I love having a role that lets me help people. It also means I’m always learning something new.”
“I get that. Running my own shop is my dream. I’ve always loved candles and how they have a way of comforting people and lighting the darkness.”
His gaze caught mine. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to help make your dream a reality.” He tapped his finger on his side, the same rhythm over and over. “It matters to you, and now it matters to me.”
My breath caught, something in me trembling at the earnestness in his gaze. My hand shook as I hung another ornament, but I couldn’t deny that a part of me wanted his help too. For so long I’d been doing everything alone. Like Lizzy said, I kept people at arm’s length because it was easier to be alone than to get hurt. Lovewasa risk, but maybe it was one worth taking.
“Thank you,” I whispered, unsure what else to say. William had a harder life than I’d given him credit for, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much of him was him and how much was Lady Catherine’s influence. His forced confidence must’ve been a mask for his insecurity after losing his parents so young. Based there were hints of the real William peeking through.
I turned to face him, then froze, caught in place by the quiet intensity in his gaze. He wasn’t much taller than me, putting our eyes—and our mouths—at about the same level.
William’s gaze dropped to my lips and his cheeks darkened, but he didn’t move, as if sensing how fragile the moment was. Even the Christmas carols in the background faded away as the moment thickened.
The flush in his cheeks—the evidence of his happiness—unraveled any shred of my self-control and the logic I kept pulled around me like armor. My brain told me to move back, to protect myself like I always had, but my feet betrayed me, edging a step closer. The warmth of his body invited me to close the remaining gap, to trust him and the thought that he could makeme happy. His hands twitched at his sides, but he kept them still, as if sensing that one wrong move could shatter the moment. His restraint spoke volumes, louder than any declarations he might’ve said.
“Charlotte, I…” He hesitated, his hand dropping to his cuff. “I know I’m more awkward than most men, and I don’t always know what to say or I say the wrong thing, but I want to make you happy. Will you let me?”
“You are more awkward than most.” My instincts screamed at me that we were wading into dangerous territory, but my hand fell to the warm necklace, filling me with courage. “But you’re also more thoughtful and more empathetic too.”
“I believe that this would be the right time for us to kiss, if that’s agreeable. And I believe that you are. I’ve taken into account your body language, the fact that we’re standing under a mistletoe, and that you’re smiling right now, which feels like a good sign. But tell me if I’m wrong.”
My heart pounded so loudly that surely he could hear it too. “You aren’t”—I swallowed—“wrong.”
