Tassie Morris is everyone’s favourite wedding photographer, famous for her
photos of offbeat ceremonies and alternative brides. Yet commitment is
proving impossible for Tassie herself, who cannot forget her first love.
When she’s sent to photograph a ceremony on Schiehallion - the Fairy Hill
of the Scottish Caledonians - she meets Dan, who might be the one to make
her forget her past. That is, until a family crisis begins a chain of events
that threaten to destroy not only Tassie’s love life, but her entire
career.
Set in a colourful world of extraordinary weddings, Shoot the Moon explores
the complexities of different kinds of love: romantic love, mother love,
friendship. And, ultimately, the importance of loving yourself.
Purchase Links
UK -
https://www.amazon.co.uk/SHOOT-MOON-alternative-game-hearts-ebook/dp/B09D2DHZYG
US -
https://www.amazon.com/SHOOT-MOON-alternative-game-hearts-ebook/dp/B09D2DHZYG
Excerpt
My protagonist, Tassie, is remembering a time
when she and Alex (the love she can’t forget) went boating in Regent’s Park.
Did I do this very thing myself? Aged seventeen. Just maybe…
Regent’s Park, December
1999
It had been Tassie’s
idea to take the boat out. Ideas like that usually were. She’d wanted to try it
as soon as she’d seen it lying just metres from the lake, bright blue paint
crackled over red, its rope coiled loosely in front. Now, as she tugged it
towards the water, her breath puffed smoke – illuminated by the low winter sun.
‘Come on, it’s not tied
to anything. It’ll be fun.’ She stared up at Alex who was watching her from a
nearby bench.
He shook his head, his
eyebrows raised. ‘Really?’
‘Come on, or I’ll go by
myself. You know I will.’
He sighed, dusting the
algae from his coat as he looked around the park. In the distance, an old man
was shuffling along, head down, a small dog darting this way and that.
Eventually Alex shrugged and walked down the bank to join her. Eyeing the boat
suspiciously he bent to examine it. ‘I bet there’s a reason it’s not locked.’
He dug his thumb into the rim, leaving a small indent. ‘See? The wood’s gone
all soft.’
‘Oh, come on, let’s
just try. What’s the worst that can happen?’ With one more pull the bow
crunched over stones into the water and Tassie jumped in. ‘Look! There’s even
some oars.’ She turned, her enthusiasm rewarded when Alex finally smiled.
Bending down she yanked two misshapen pieces of wood from beneath the seats.
‘I’m sure these wouldn’t be here if it didn’t work. And we’ll put it back where
it was. Come on. It’s Christmas.’ She cocked her head and blew him a kiss.
A jogger appeared,
running in the opposite direction to the old man, his hat clamped by large
headphones. But there was no one else visible in the whole of Regent’s Park,
for winter gloom was just beginning to descend and the weather was cold enough
to put most people off a late afternoon stroll.
Gathering up his coat,
Alex shook his head as he pulled the boat towards him then clambered in. Still
scanning the horizon, he sat, pin-straight, as Tassie thrust the oars into the
water and started rowing, straining with each stroke as slowly – but not at all
surely – the boat began to move. Soon her face was hot and she had to blow bits
of hair out of her mouth as it tumbled down around her, strands of pearl, amber
and gold shining in the fading light.
After a few minutes
Alex leant forward and, taking her face in his hands, gave her a long kiss.
Then, crouching in the middle of the boat, he twisted round and backed up to
sit next to her. Nudging her shoulder, he held out a hand. ‘Come on. It’ll be
easier if we both do it.’
It took about eight
minutes for them to row into the middle of the lake, a minute to admire the
orange sun as it sank behind the silhouetted fingers of the park’s trees, and
two more minutes to realise the boat was leaking.
Tassie’s laughter rang
out across the fractured water, soon followed by Alex’s expletives. Alerted by
the noise, the old man stood and watched, the dog twisting to sniff something
between his feet as he strained to make out what they were doing.
They frantically pulled
on the oars, racing to reach the shore before it was too late, and as soon as
she could Tassie jumped out, soaking her Converse and splashing water over her
jeans as she yanked on the bow, flakes of paint coming away in her hand. Alex
disembarked more cautiously, trying to avoid his suede shoes getting wet.
Still laughing, she
took the lion’s share of pulling the boat in, then Alex looked at her, shaking
his head.
‘Told you.’ But his
face was amused as he said it and, pulling her close to him, he lifted her
chin. ‘You’re crazy, Tassie Morris – and I still can’t believe you came today.
But I’m so glad you did. I love you.’ He held out his hand, then looked up at
the sky. ‘Let’s get out of here. I think it might actually snow. And I’m
freezing.’
* * *
When had they first
met? It had been just an ordinary Thursday – the kind with homework, odd socks
and toad in the hole for tea – the day he’d first walked into her life. Or
strolled, to be more accurate.
She’d been struggling
with algebraic fractions at the kitchen table when her brother had bounced in,
followed by a boy she’d never seen before. He’d paused to pat the dog, pushing
his dark hair from his face, and while Tom had worked on persuading their
mother that there’d be enough toads for everyone, Tassie had done her best not
to look up again. She’d not wanted her flushed cheeks to give her away – any
more than the faint pink powdering her mother’s.
At supper Alex had been
charming, explaining how he and Tom had met through the debating society, although
he was actually in Tassie’s year; asking her father about his cows;
commiserating with Tassie about the amount of revision they needed to do – it
quickly becoming clear he was doing a lot more than her. Before he’d cycled off
at the end of the evening, a trip to the cinema had been arranged with Tom (and
Tassie) for the following Saturday; then a week later they’d gone out again,
this time just the two of them. And that was it: first love unfolding, with all
its exhilarating, palpitating, blood-rushing, head-spinning, heart-crushing
emotion.
And there she’d bloody
remained.
Author Bio –
Bella Cassidy grew up in the West Country - reading contemporary romances,
romances, historical novels, literary fiction... just about anything she
could lay her hands on. After a few years in London, working as a waitress
and in PR and advertising, she went to Sussex to read English - despite
admitting in her pre-interview that this rather sociable period in her life
had seen her read only one book in six months: a Jilly Cooper.
She’s had an eclectic range of jobs: including in the world of finance;
social housing fundraising; a stint at the Body Shop - working as Anita
Roddick’s assistant; as a secondary school teacher, then teaching babies to
swim: all over the world.
She’s done a lot of research for writing a wedding romance, having had two
herself. For her first she was eight months pregnant - a whale in bright
orange - and was married in a barn with wood fires burning. The second saw
her in elegant Edwardian silk, crystals and lace, teamed with yellow wellies
and a cardigan. Both were great fun; but it was lovely having her daughter
alongside, rather than inside her at the second one.
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