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I reach into the pocket of my coat and grab a sticker for her. I always keep a small stack on me for situations like these. Pixie takes the sticker and presses it to her chest. “The Magic Wonderland is so fun.”

“How about a quick picture together?” Sarah asks. Even though she knows all too well what the rules are, she always casts them aside whenever an adorable child is involved. I don’t even try to stop her anymore these days.

The three of us pose for a picture, and both Pixie and her mother leave beaming with delight.

“That smile right there is why we do what we do, right?” Sarah asks with a content sigh while we continue our walk toward the castle’s garden.

“That’s right. That and the money.”

She shakes her head. “Yeah, the money.”

“What?” I ask. “It pays the bills.”

“I know it does, but I also know you’re saving most of what you make just so you can get out of here. To you, this isn’t about paying the bills. It’s about something more.”

“Can you blame me?”

She stops walking and puts her hand on my arm. “You’re not your father, Colton. Everyone here knows that.”

“I don’t want pitiful looks for the rest of my life. I want to build a life of my own and be myself, Colton Wilson, not poor Lee Wilson’s son,” I say through clenched teeth.

Sarah nods and squeezes my arm before picking up her dress again with both hands. We walk the rest of the way in silence. I know she means well. I’m not mad at her or anything, but I’m afraid of turning into my father if I stick around.

We take our places at the castle’s garden with ten minutes to spare before the doors open for a meet and greet with us—or at least, the fairytale versions of us. Sarah whips out her phone, and I let my gaze wander. The park opened about half an hour ago, but people are already spilling onto the pathways from all directions.

I focus on the hot dog cart on the other side of the pathway. I use my hand to shield my eyes from the sun and narrow them. Layla has worked that cart for quite some time now, but I don’t recognize the girl next to her. She moves in a nervous way, and I snort when she accidentally squirts ketchup on her hands. She’s definitely new. Right before I look away from her, I catch something I didn’t see before. Red locks of hair spilling out from under her ketchup hat.

They gave Elle a job at the hot dog stand? Oh, man. I knew she was hoping for something else. Now I feel like an idiot for not preparing her more. I can only hope she’s not too bummed out.

Right then, Elle looks straight in our direction. For a second, she stands frozen. I wave at her, and it’s almost as if that gesture wakes her with an electric jolt. She drops her ketchup bottle and disappears behind the cart.

Sarah nudges me with her elbow. “The clock strikes ten, time to meet our guests.”

“Uh-huh,” I answer and turn around to do my job.

I smile and crack jokes and pose for dozens of pictures with guests of all ages, but every now and then, I steal a glance at Elle, whose body is squeezed between the two brown buns of her costume. Too bad she doesn’t catch my eye even once.

Chapter Seven

Elle

I’ve been spotted. By him. Not in the sexy ankle-length jeans I bought in Paris last spring, or my favorite black shirt that hides my muffin top in the best possible way, but in an ugly brown costume and equally repulsing ketchup hat. If anything had the power to scare away cute guys, this costume would win without even trying.

Not that I need to attract cute guys but… come on. The hottest man in the park is without a doubt Colton Wilson, and here I am, squeezed between two brown buns, in full view of the park’s royalty.

“Could you hand me a fresh stack of napkins?” Layla asks. “I like to be prepared before the lunch rush starts.”

“Huh? What?”

“Napkins?”

I give her a blank stare. I’m way too distracted to know anything about napkins and their whereabouts. I frantically start opening boxes, because I don’t want her to tell Frank that I’m lousy at this easy job.

She laughs and points at one of the storage compartments tucked away under the cart. “The one on the left.”

“Sorry,” I say and hand her a big stack of napkins.

She motions toward the park’s castle garden. “Drooling over Prince Charming, were you? You should keep one of those napkins for when that happens again.”