“You’re enjoying this!”
Ashe took a step closer. “You like to play with people, shake things up, push people out of their comfort zone, shock them a bit.”
“Well, yes. People come to me because they want to change, and for that, you have to shake things up. As a teacher and therapist—”
“I’m not talking about you as a therapist,” he said, taking one more step forward, until he was absolutely looming over her with his big, powerful body.
“Oh,” she said softly. He was so close she could smell the scent he was wearing, something dark and spicy and very, very sexy. She felt little waves of heat coming off his body. “You mean—”
“As a woman, Lilah,” he said quietly, his already deep voice getting a little deeper.
She gave a little shiver that was part pleasure and part … okay, no. All pleasure. Nothing but.
Dear Reader,
The idea of the perfect bride, perfect wedding, even perfect marriage persists, even though no woman or marriage could ever meet that expectation.
Which is the reason I found the “Mess the Dress” trend so interesting.
Brides, in their wedding gowns, being photographed rolling in the grass or walking through the ocean? It just seems wrong, even shocking at first, but then the images become compelling, fun, adventurous, freeing.
We will not be perfect brides with perfect dresses or perfect marriages.
We’re real women, and we’ve had enough of trying to live up to that standard.
And as always with things that catch and hold my attention, there’s a book idea. In this case, the story of Lilah, a woman who helps women deal emotionally with divorce. She uses her unconventional methods—including “Mess the Dress” sessions—as a way of freeing women from that need to be perfect, to do everything right, to always make the right decisions.
Hope you enjoy it,
Teresa Hill
About the Author
TERESA HILL tells people if they want to be writers, to find a spouse who’s patient, understanding and interested in being a patron of the arts. Lucky for her, she found a man just like that, who’s been with her through all the ups and downs of being a writer. They live in Travelers Rest, South Carolina, in the foothills of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, with two beautiful, spoiled dogs and two gigantic, lazy cats.
Matchmaking
by Moonlight
Teresa Hill
MILLS & BOON
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A very lucky writer will find herself surrounded
by kind, supportive, smart people who make her books
better. I count myself very lucky to have at my side
my wonderful editor, Charles Griemsman,
and agent, Helen Breitwieser.
Chapter One
Ashe had been warned. The elderly ladies inside were somewhat eccentric, not always reasonable, but supposedly perfectly sane.
It was the perfectly sane part that had Circuit Court Judge Thomas Ashford—Ashe to his friends—worried. Why would his friend and longtime colleague Wyatt Gray have included perfectly sane in his description, unless Wyatt thought there would be some question about the ladies’ sanity?
Wyatt had all but dared him to refuse to help, and Wyatt knew Ashe had a hard time refusing any kind of dare. So before Ashe had fully realized what he’d agreed to, he’d promised to do some vague favor for the ladies inside, something to do with a ceremony of some sort.
The front door of the three-story weathered stone mansion opened, and his first sight of the three little old ladies did nothing to allay his fears.
He’d seldom, if ever, been subject to such a frank appraisal from a woman in her seventies—at least—let alone three of them, and it was more than a little unnerving. One of them seemed quite taken with his shoulders. The middle one just grinned at him. And the third looked as if she was considering testing the strength of his bicep to see if he worked out regularly, which he did. Not that he could imagine why it mattered to her.
He felt like a specimen of some rare and misunderstood species in a zoo.
What in the world were they planning to do to him?
“Judge Ashford, welcome to my home. I’m Eleanor Barrington Holmes,” the middle one said, extending her hand to him. “I suspect we’ve been introduced before, although you may not remember. I believe you know my godson, Tate Darnley.”
“From the Downtown Redevelopment Committee? Of course. He’s doing an amazing job. Very nice to meet you again, ma’am,” Ashe said, taking her hand. “You do a lot of good work for the community.”
“I do my best, young man. Please allow me to present my dear friends, Kathleen Gray, Wyatt’s late uncle’s widow, and her cousin Gladdy Carlton.”
“Ladies,” Ashe said, shaking each of their hands.
“I’m also Wyatt’s grandmother-in-law,” the one who liked his shoulders said.
“Such a dear boy, and a delightful husband to our dear Jane,” the one who’d looked as if she’d considered pinching him said.
Ashe tried not to look too shocked at that. Wyatt Gray, a delightful husband? That would certainly be a remarkable turnaround for a man who’d been one of the most successful divorce attorneys in the state, a man so cynical about the state of marriage that the idea of him ever entering into it was impossible to believe.
And yet, from everything Ashe had seen and heard, that was exactly what Wyatt had done and he seemed perfectly happy with his choice. Which was even stranger.
“Wyatt said you ladies needed help with a ceremony of some kind?” Ashe asked.
Eleanor smiled up at him. And slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yes, Judge, that’s exactly what we need. Why don’t you step out onto the patio for some tea, and we’ll tell you all about it.”
He let them lead him through several rooms to the patio at the back of the house where they sat down at an ornate black iron patio set. One of the ladies poured him a cup of hot tea, while another set a platter of baked goods in front of him.
“Our dear Amy, Tate’s wife, made fresh ginger cookies this morning,” Eleanor told him.
Ashe had noticed it smelled wonderful in the house and thought he remembered something about Tate Darnley’s wife opening