on id="uf262406a-ce39-58d2-99c7-b1a8da9cbab3">
Table of Contents
Noah came toward her,
his gaze growing softer.…
“I’ll call Aunt Arletta to let her know I’ll be home later,” Ivy murmured to fill the quiet. She rested against the doorway, her hands folded across her waist.
“All right.” Noah stood very close. His breath fanned her cheek. His proximity unnerved her. It simply wasn’t fair to have this reaction when he was so…so unsuitable for her ten-year plan.
“Shall we take my truck, or your car?” he asked with a mischievous grin. He placed his palm high against the door frame just above her head. The light in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat, and all she could think of was that kiss they’d shared in the kitchen. How sweet his lips had felt on hers…
How afterward she’d vowed to never let him kiss her again.
She wouldn’t let her heart get involved, Ivy told herself for the dozenth time.
She wouldn’t allow herself to fall in love with Noah Thornton!
RUTH SCOFIELD
became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults, and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully her husband applauded her decision.
Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the last century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to the next millennium. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.
The Perfect Groom
Ruth Scofield
By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.
—Proverbs 24:3-4
This is for all the many affectionate, loving aunts who enrich our lives with their presence, their advice and guidance, their constancy and support. Most of mine have gone from this earth, but I recall them to memory with great fondness and longing to see them again.
And for the aunt for whom I was named, who is lively and shining with love—Aunt Ruth. Everyone should be so blessed.
Ivy hated weddings. She despised bridesmaids dresses. She still abhorred all ten attendant gowns already stuffed in the back of her closet, used once, never appropriate for any other occasion. Never mind the two once-in-a-dream white bridal gowns, unused, forlorn, and stored in plastic covers, hidden away in disappointment and disgust.
She especially detested the bright lime-green silk that clung too tightly to her generous curves at this very moment, but she’d bitten her tongue over the choice. After all, she’d given her word to support the bride, her best friend Kelly, and Kelly’s sister wanted this style, this color.
“Ivy Suzanne York, quit pulling at your dress,” Aunt Arletta said, scarcely lowering her voice as she steered her from behind the huge oak where Ivy had tried to hide. “You’re not a child, you know.”
Ivy swallowed a snappy response, eyeing the man her aunt had tugged along a few minutes ago in her wake.
No, Ivy hadn’t been a child for a long time. At twenty-seven, college educated, with ten solid years of retail experience behind her, and now owner of her own shop, Ivy considered herself well and truly grown. A responsible person. With nothing to prove