It would be enough for tonight. She could figure out what she wanted to do tomorrow, and he'd help her out however he could.

  He went back to the living room and bit back a smile when he saw that she was eating his taco, right off the plate where he'd left it.

  "Sorry," she murmured, her mouth full. "Ran off before the big dinner at Tyler's grandparents' place. Had a huge plate from the buffet but no time to eat it. I'm starving. Didn't eat anything all day so I'd be sure to look good in this dress."

  Oh, and she definitely looked good.

  "Then take the rest of them, too," he said, grabbing the bag that held everything he'd gotten in his take out order. "Alicia says they make me fat." He thought belatedly that this probably wasn’t what Charlotte wanted to hear, seeing as how her mouth was full.

  "Not like I care if I get fat," she said, as she took the offerings in his arms, along with the key he held out and started making her way outside.

  He made a move to watch her from the door, to make sure she made it in okay, when he noticed she was hobbling.

  Little surprise, since he still held her shoe in his hand.

  "Charlotte," he said, as she turned back to him, his pillow and his blanket in her arms, her make up all but ruined now, tears still in her eyes.

  Stupid Tyler. Eli wanted to hunt him down and kick his butt.

  "What?" she asked, watching him with such sad resignation.

  "Your shoe," he said, holding it up as he made his way over to her, apology in his expression.

  "I hate those things," she muttered. "Just another way to please him. Little good that did."

  Little good. Except she was beautiful, and he was certain that Tyler, for as dumb as he was in not knowing how to respond to what she'd said, had noticed that.

  "Here," he said, the shoe still in his hand, kneeling down on the sidewalk in front of her and glancing up. "Don't kick me in the face, slugger."

  "I'm not angry anymore," she sighed. "Just sad."

  He hated that. Hated Tyler for doing it.

  "Maybe the sadness will make a way for something better," he said, knowing that she wasn't defined by what had happened tonight, that God had much better things in store for her, no matter what she likely thought right at this moment.

  So with tenderness, he guided her foot back into the shoe, thinking again that he'd give anything to have spared her this whole night and all the humiliation.

  "I was going to be like Cinderella tonight," she said, a tremor still in her voice. "That was my big plan. A big happily ever after and all. Stupid Tyler."

  "Stupid Tyler," Eli echoed. "Maybe there's a better plan, huh?"

  "Doubtful," she murmured. "But thanks, Eli."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Charlotte

  Tyler called that night.

  As if she wasn’t already humiliated enough.

  During the drive to Eli's house, she'd relived the scene from Tyler's grand family event over and over again. She could see herself standing there with her drink in her hand, staring blankly at him as he talked, her mind so far away. She could see his relatives smile at the words he was saying, could see herself smile in response, even though she clearly wasn't listening. She could see Tyler turn to her, the question having passed his lips, the big moment there...

  And in her mind, she began yelling, sprinting towards her fancy pants self, standing there, getting ready to say the wrong thing.

  The replay was in slow motion, of course, which made it seem ten thousand times worse.

  Fancy pants Charlotte, taking a breath, opening her mouth. Jaded, realistic, real Charlotte yelling, nnnnooooo.....

  Slow motion. Dramatic. Climactic.

  And totally ineffective. Because there fancy pants Charlotte went, proclaiming her devotion to a man she didn't even know all that well, obviously, since she had read him completely and totally wrong.

  Nnnnnnooooo...

  And there in the replay was Eli, standing there, a taco in his hand, saying, "Well, good grief, Lottie. Just put it out there like that."

  She'd been glad to see his text on her phone once she rushed away from Tyler and escaped in her car, because his text gave her a direction to run to when she left.

  That was a small comfort, given that Charlotte never had anywhere to run and certainly no one to run to. The very thought, combined with the rejection she'd felt from Tyler, had her crying long before she arrived at Eli's front door.

  And now, as she curled up on his pillow with his clothes in her arms, she cried again, thinking about it all, looking at the empty, sad place she found herself in.

  This was life, though. This had always been life. Empty, lonely places to go home to, because she was on her own and had been for so long. She'd hoped things were changing with Tyler, that life wouldn't be so lonely anymore, but she'd been wrong.

  Wrong. So wrong.

  She'd heard that before.

  It was just wrong.

  Those were familiar words, words that she'd heard her whole life, but they'd given her serious pause the last time she'd seen her mother, nearly four years ago.

  How does a girl go four years without seeing her mother? Easier than you would think, given that her mother had been distant long before that day when Charlotte had moved out at eighteen to go to college and to mercifully give her mother a respite from all that had gone wrong.

  Wrong.

  She'd been packing everything up, preparing to move a state away to the college that was giving her the most money for her education, and her mother had come into her room, a place she rarely frequented, to give her all of her official documents. Birth certificate, passport, shot records. All the things that should have still had a place at the home where Charlotte grew up.

  But time was out. Her mother was remarried, had been for a few years, and it was time for her and her new husband to get on with their lives.

  It wasn't like things had never been good. Her mother wasn't all bad. She was just distant, had always been distant. Detached parenting, raising Charlotte to be an independent thinker, able to take care of herself, because wasn't that how children were meant to be raised? Especially children who hadn't been wanted.

  There was no affection. Charlotte wouldn't have known that it should be any different had it not been for Uncle Mark, who had been there living in their house and starting college when Charlotte's father had the heart attack that took him from them, who had stayed as close as he could afterwards, taking on his brother's role as much as he could.

  Darn you, Uncle Mark, for being the best uncle in the world, for making it painfully obvious that there was something very wrong with her mother, who didn't seem to love her half as much as her goofy uncle did.

  If she ever had loved her, she had a strange way of showing it.

  On the day that Charlotte had been packing everything up to leave for college, her mother had come in with the documents... and something else.

  "What's this?" Charlotte had asked, holding the small compact in her hand, moving to open it, then staring down at the tiny pills.

  "College," her mother had said with a sad smile. "It's going to be different."

  Different, yes. Tougher classes. Working a job to pay for her living expenses. Studying all the time to keep her scholarships.

  But this.

  "Birth control?" she had asked, very nearly whispering it.

  "I know you're a good girl," her mother had said.

  And Charlotte had nearly corrected her on this point. Not a good girl. A redeemed girl. A girl who knew she was a sinner, a girl who would never be fully sanctified this side of glory, a girl who trusted the redemption and grace of a capable Savior.

  Another thing Uncle Mark had given her. Loving her as a little girl, telling her about Jesus. Being there still when she began to change from a little girl to something quite different, loving her even still, matching her maturity with greater spiritual talks. Sharing Christ with her, leading her to Him, affirming His work in her heart, holding her accountable to her new faith, walking alongside her as she knew Him better and better.

  Nothing was off limits with Uncle Mark. And when she'd been thirteen, a new believer, he'd told her, with no embarrassment or awkwardness, that purity was about more than her body, that it began in her heart, and that loving Jesus entirely with all of her heart would set the standard for every other area of her life.

  It had. It did.

  Birth control pills. A good girl.

  "But college is different," her mother had said. And Charlotte had seen it in her eyes.

  Exhaustion. Regret.

  Overwhelming regret.

  Her parents had met in college. Her mother had been a student. Her father, several years older, had been working on a PhD in Arabic studies. His goal had been to go back to Egypt where he'd grown up, to teach at a university there, to be back in his own culture and with his own people.

  But college was different.

  There had to have been love. Real, sincere affection, authentic feelings, something more, before everything went too far.

  And then, there was marriage. Because her mother's family rejected her, she was just eighteen, and he felt obligated to take care of her and the baby both. Marriage wasn't easy. Charlotte knew it from her vague recollections, her earliest memories, and the things her mother said, the disappointment she exuded.

  She knew it from her mother's face, even as Charlotte held the birth control pills in her hand.

  "I won't need these," she had said, holding them out again, promising herself that she wouldn't end up disappointed.

  "Your father and I," her mother had said, not taking them back, "we just... just didn't know each other. We were wrong about one another. It was all wrong."

  You were all wrong, Charlotte.

  She'd heard it her whole life. But it might have been easier to take on that day had her mother concluded it by telling her that the pills were being given because she hoped for more for her daughter. That even though she'd been "all wrong," there was still some love, even if she did such a poor job of showing it.

  But she hadn't said another word. And Charlotte hadn't been home since.

  There were still phone calls once every few months. Because Charlotte made the effort, because her mother called once in a while, feeling at least some regret for her silence even in a sea of regret over so much else.

  Eli was always there when she got these calls, oddly enough. Because she was always with Eli, probably. His assessment was always a calm, solid, "Her loss, Lottie."

  Her loss.

  He knew the whole story. He knew it all.

  And now, he knew all about this debacle as well.

  Just as she began to start crying about it all again, her phone rang.

  Tyler.

  How much heartache can one girl take in a single night?

  Oh, well, a year together was a year together, and while it would have been preferable for him to forget that she ever existed after what she’d done, he, of course, hadn’t and had been enough of a gentleman to call her.

  She took a steadying breath and answered, even as she snuggled in closer to Eli's pillow. "Hey."

  "Charlotte, finally!"

  For all that he hadn't said that night in terms of endearments, there was this, at least. He was worried about her.

  "I've been worried sick about you!" he kept on. "Did you not get any of my texts?"

  She had. Each and every one. He hadn't called until now, of course, which was troubling. Not as troubling as the fact that none of his texts had said, silly me, I totally meant to propose!

  Her mind went to Eli, saying that maybe it was for the best, because did she even want to go overseas, then to her own thoughts, about how she'd wondered at the panic in her heart, and...

  "I got them," she said, trying not to think about this, about all that was making her head hurt, about all that she couldn't rationally discern or understand, given how emotional she was and how much was tied into this.

  "You got my texts," Tyler said. "But you didn't think to respond to any of them?!"

  She wanted to respond with, why didn't you call earlier if you were so worried, but instead, she heard herself say, "I've just been busy."

  Doing what, Lottie, you big moron? She very nearly cringed at her poor excuse, knowing that she couldn't say what she honestly felt, about how she was hurt and how he should have come rushing after her or called her, at least. But she couldn't say this because --

  Because why? She'd been ready to marry him. But she couldn't be honest? Had she ever been honest with him?

  He knew no different. (Had he ever known her? What a question. What a time to wonder about it all.)

  “Where are you?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting here at your place for you. We need to talk.”

  No kidding.

  "I'm staying with a friend," she said, thinking about how Eli hadn't hesitated for a minute in making a place for her to stay.

  How many friends would have done that? None of the friends she'd had in college, apart from him, friends who'd gone on into the world to take jobs and to start families and to move on.

  She had Eli. Of all that was unhappy about where she found herself and what was going on, she had a friend. A good friend, who was willing to put himself out for her...even if it was probably just because he needed to get his taxes done.

  (Okay, so it was more than that. Beneath the hard, curmudgeon exterior, he was a good guy. Surely.)

  "Well," Tyler said, not asking for details, which should have been a given, seeing as how he must certainly should have known that there weren't many friends left here who she could have gone to.

  But he kept on.

  How well did they really know one another?

  "I really wish you would come home," he said. "We have a lot we need to talk about."

  "Really?" she asked, a tired sigh in her voice that thankfully hid the wavering there. "What's there to talk about? You're going onto the mission field. And I made a fool of myself in front of everyone!"

  "You didn't make a fool of yourself," he reassured her.

  But she wasn't stupid.

  "Yes, I did," she answered him. "None of your family will likely ever be able to forget what I did. I know I won't."

  And though she didn't want to, she couldn't keep from imagining the scene. All of Tyler's family talking about her, all the words, all the thoughts...

  She was more heartbroken over what they probably thought about her than she was over the fact that she wouldn't be getting married.

  Troubling, this.

  "What did they all say?" she asked, wondering at how bad it all was, trying not to think of the reasons why this mattered more to her than what had happened, honestly. Humiliation was a horrible thing. Anyone would feel the same.

  Surely...right?

  "They were more concerned over what I must have done to make you believe that this is where we were heading," he said. "Honestly, they weren't talking about you. They were talking about me, about how I had led you on."

  He hadn't. Not really. He'd never come out and said they had a future, certainly not the one she'd been planning on.

  But still.

  "Well, what was I supposed to think, Tyler?" she asked. "We've been together a full year. I thought this was the next logical step."

  "But you've never shown a desire to go onto the mission field," he said. "Which I thought meant that we weren't going to be together. That this relationship... well, I had concluded a long time ago that it wasn't romance, Charlotte. We've been friends."

  Ouch. This hurt even worse.

  Because it was true, of course.

  She'd spent plenty of time trying to convince herself that it wasn't true, that this relationship was the kind that could lead to marriage, that mutual respect and common goals were enough to sustain a relationship for a lifetime.

  But it likely wasn't.

  They'd never been like other couples. Physical boundaries that were, quite frankly, like platonic friendship. Separate lives without much merging in any real sense. A good friendship that could have led to more... but it hadn't.

  But emotions. She'd felt more. She thought he had. And he had. He'd felt passion. Thrills. Excitement.

  For the mission field. Maybe for her, long before he'd made his choice. But now, it was for the mission field.