“Thousand,” the woman answered.

Charlie fumbled with the back zip, unable to get the dress off fast enough. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t buy this,” she said emphatically. “And you can’t buy this for me, Sebastian.”

“Charlie.” He had to have her in that dress. In every single possible meaning that statement contained. “Please, it was made for you and you alone.”

But she was already stepping off the dais, tugging the dress up and over. Women had never said no to Sebastian. Hell, no one said no to Sebastian for any reason. They always happily took whatever he wanted to give them.

“I can’t.” She put the dress back on the hanger. “I’ll come up with something else.” She fastened her jeans, pulled on her T-shirt.

He would have continued to argue his point about the dress, but just as he opened his mouth, Susan’s words rang in his head. Don’t push was what she’d said. But he knew her real meaning: Be careful not to push Charlie away.

“I promise I won’t embarrass you,” she said softly.

He couldn’t keep his hands off her, holding her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. “You could never embarrass me. No matter what you do. Do you understand that?”

He counted five beats before she nodded. Before he could give her a kiss, before he could do one single thing to fix whatever it was he’d just broken, she said, “I need to get back to the workshop. Have a good meeting.” And then she was gone.

* * *

“I just couldn’t take the dress, Mom.” Charlie threaded the needle and stuck it into the pincushion.

“I understand, dear. But you do realize he probably earns that much in half an hour?”

“I know.” She’d wanted to wear the velvet and pearls for him so badly, wanted him to tear it off her too. But even as she’d felt the gorgeous fabric like a caress against her skin and his gaze heating her from the inside out, she couldn’t let him spend that much money on it. On her. Even if she could look beyond the price of the dress, the woman who’d gazed back at her from the mirror hadn’t been anyone she recognized.

All these years of dating, she’d been so determined to remain true to herself, even when the men had hoped she’d change to please them. Sebastian had repeatedly told her how much he loved the way she looked in jeans and boots, but at the same time, it was clear he wanted her to shine in his social circles.

Was there a way for Charlie to shine while remaining true to herself? She didn’t know the answer, but she could only hope that it would end up being yes. The thought of things falling apart with Sebastian made her stomach twist even tighter than hearing the price of that dress.

She and her mom sat in Shady Lane’s lounge, as usual, but only for another two weeks. Magnolia Gardens had called yesterday. They finally had a room available. It needed fresh paint, new carpet, and new furniture, and then it would be Mom’s. Charlie’s fingers had trembled as she’d written the check for the remainder of the entry fee. She still felt slightly sick about it, especially with the monthly charges looming. She hadn’t even told Sebastian the news yet, as though not saying the words aloud meant she wouldn’t be on the hook for such a huge amount every single month from now on.

“This dress is lovely,” her mother said, blissfully unaware of all the thoughts making Charlie’s stomach roil. Charlie had taken a short break from working on the chariot yesterday and had been lucky enough to find a dress she thought might work. Her mother held up the garment in her gnarled fingers. “We can certainly do something with it.”

But it wouldn’t be we. Mom’s fingers had flown with a needle and thread, creating beauty from scraps, but she’d had to give up sewing long ago. Fortunately, she’d taught Charlie to sew, both by hand and by machine.

“What we’re going to do,” her mother said in her usual upbeat way—indomitable was the word Sebastian had used, “is take in a couple of darts to mold the bodice of the camisole to your chest.” She pinched the material, demonstrating. “Think an Anne Boleyn style. Almost a bustier.”

“I like that.”

Her mom pointed to the matching skirt. “We’ll take a little nip here, a little tuck there, and size the waistband down.”

Charlie tried not to wince that it had come to this, her mother verbally directing her on how not to screw up the inexpensive outfit she’d bought at a consignment store. She’d found a pair of high-heeled sandals too, and a clutch with some of its beads ready to fall off. She’d told Sebastian she wouldn’t embarrass him. Her mother was her only hope of keeping that promise.

“Put the camisole on over your T-shirt and pin it.” Mom held up the pincushion. Her fingers were no longer nimble enough to hold a pin without dropping it.

Charlie finished pinning. “What do you think?”

“Perfect.” The smile on her mother’s face was as big as if she were viewing a model at a fashion show rather than the daughter who had always been far more comfortable in steel-toed boots than she would ever be in heels and dresses.

Her mother had adored sewing. She’d loved baking. There were so many things she’d had to give up. It was like losing a piece of herself every time another thing she loved was taken away.

But she still walked that mile every day. And she always did it with a smile.

Charlie undid the short zipper at the back and shrugged out of the camisole. “Sebastian made you famous the other day.”

“He did?” Her mother sipped her tea.

“He gave a talk in Los Angeles to thousands of people, and he told them about your arthritis and how you force yourself to walk a mile a day. Then he challenged the entire audience to walk their own mile every day.”

Charlie started the dart, using a backstitch to secure it. She poked a finger, then sucked on it so the material wouldn’t stain.

“That’s sweet of him. But a mile isn’t very much.” Mom pointed at the dart. “Go over it once more with a backstitch.”

Charlie switched directions, rolling the material over her index finger. “It depends on how far your mile is, doesn’t it? And how hard it is.”

“I suppose.” Her mother was quiet for a long moment. “How long is your mile, Charlie?”

She tied off the thread and snipped the ends, laughing a little as she admitted, “I’m not even sure what my mile is.”

Was it the chariot? All her art? The commissions? A big-money art career? Was it Magnolia Gardens for her mother? Maybe it was the pleasure she got from teaching. Despite yet another letter from the school she’d shoved into the drawer just yesterday without making a firm decision, teaching her students how to create art from what everyone else thought was junk had always made Charlie feel good.

But was that it? Or could her mile be falling recklessly for Sebastian? Not part of the way, but risking it all, every ounce of her heart and soul.

“It’s all right, dear,” her mother said as though she could read Charlie’s confusion in the frown on her face. “You’ve got all the time in the world to figure it out.”

But she didn’t. She only had a little over a month until the chariot had to be completed. After that, she wouldn’t see Sebastian day in and day out, wouldn’t have dinner with him, discuss her day with him. Wouldn’t have the pleasure of knowing he might drop by for a kiss at any moment, when just the sight of him would brighten her entire world.

“Let’s finish the sewing,” her mother said, “and think about the rest later. I have an idea for fixing the beads on the purse too.”

Yes, Charlie thought. Finish the sewing. Worry later.

Or, better yet, she could try to make herself believe what Sebastian had told her dozens of times since they’d first met—that everything was going to work out beyond her wildest dreams. In which case, there would be more parties like this one to deal with, more dresses to find and fix, more hours of work to squeeze in—