An Unlikely Match by Arlene James Page A

Chatam. Even this beautiful, modern home made that clear. It was the exact opposite of the aging, modest Victorian house that she so loved. Asher was serious and confident; she preferred a sunnier outlook but constantly doubted herself. He projected a maturity far beyond his years; she still often felt like a mercurial teen. He was successful and ambitious; she loved teaching and had no plans beyond that.
    She had to face facts. As much as she admired Asher,she wasn’t cut out for a man like him. So why would God put her in the way of a broken heart like this—unless it was for Asher’s sake? Perhaps her purpose was to help Asher see the possibilities, even if she herself was not intended to be his. Well, so be it—she’d do what she could.
    Squaring her shoulders, she pressed the doorbell and stepped back, grasping the handle of the basket with both hands. While she waited, she glanced around at the tall, arching entryway. Built of creamy white stone, it contrasted nicely with the rough brown brick and mossy green trim. She was not so admiring of the landscaping. Even with the arched drive crowded with vehicles, the plantings seemed rigid and unnatural. Ellie couldn’t help musing that Asher could use the assistance and expertise of his Aunt Magnolia and her gardener.
    The door opened abruptly, signaling the impatience of her greeter. Asher stood there in faded jeans with a simple sweater over a plain white T-shirt, the sleeves pushed up to expose strong forearms lightly sprinkled with cinnamon-brown hair. Ellie couldn’t help but smile.
    “You’re late,” he barked.
    Ellie’s smile abruptly faded. “I am not. It’s four minutes ’til nine.”
    “Everyone else got here ten minutes ago.”
    “Good morning to you, too, Asher. I brought some muffins,” she said, wondering what she’d done to deserve such a greeting.
    He glanced at the basket then turned and waved, indicating that she should follow.
    Ellie stepped across the threshold.
    A raised dining area at the rear of a sunken living room hosted a long, rectangular table and armless, tanleather side chairs. A wall of glass looked out over a stone-rimmed swimming pool and several wood benches flanked by empty planter boxes. At least a dozen people, mostly men, sat or stood around the table. Nearly all held stiff paper cups of coffee. Each was dressed casually in some type of athletic clothing. And every one of them stared at her as she stood there in black flats, black leggings and an electric blue, long-sleeve tunic.
    Ellie knew instantly that she had overdressed. Without even realizing it, she had dressed to impress. She had instinctively dressed for Asher without a single thought to who else might be in the room—or the actual purpose of the meeting. Her face heated.
    Asher walked to the table and pulled out an empty chair before continuing on to another space at the far end.
    “This is Ellen Monroe, team two-sixteen.”
    “There are two hundred and sixteen teams?” Ellie asked, surprised at the large number.
    “Uh, that’s sixteen teams in tier two,” a man explained. “We’re all tier two here today.”
    Ellie nodded to the group and set the basket on the table just as someone else said, “I didn’t know that team made it.”
    “It hasn’t,” Asher announced, pushing around some papers on the table. “They have a coach now but not the minimum number of players.”
    “Yet,” Ellie said with a smile.
    At the same time, the buff, fortyish man next to Ellie commented pointedly that “something” smelled good. A tall, slender woman with long, light brown hair reached across the table and lifted the corner of the crisp white cloth covering the basket.
    “Muffins. Mmm.”
    “From the cook at Chatam House,” Ellie confirmed, removing the cloth. “Help yourselves.”
    A muscle flexed in Asher’s jaw as everyone surged toward the basket. Several minutes filled with happy chatter and appreciative noises as the assembled company enjoyed