Page 12 of Small Town Sash

"Really?" Braden quirked an eyebrow, the grin now in full bloom. "So, you're telling me that a crown on your head is more satisfying than speaking your own truth?"

Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and for a moment, there was a crack in the beauty queen’s façade. "It's complicated," she admitted, then straightened up, smoothing down her dress as if realigning her armor.

"Doesn't have to be," he shot back playfully. "Ever thought about going rogue? Saying what Hadley Wilder really thinks?"

"Braden..." She hesitated, her lips parting as if she might actually spill a secret or two. "That would be unthinkable."

"Do you really think so?" he prodded, leaning in closer. "You'd rather settle for a scripted life than an authentic one?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, biting her lip. Silence hung between them, heavy and expectant.

Hadley's eyes darted away, a storm brewing in their depths. "I—I have to go," she stammered, her voice a whisper of its former poise.

"Wait, Hadley—" Braden reached out but grasped only air as she spun around, the click of her heels punctuating each step like a metronome set to double time. He watched her hurry off, feeling both intrigued and frustrated. There was more to her. He was sure of it. He just had to find a way to help her see it, too.

She didn't look back, not even once, as she wove through the sea of stage props and clusters of contestants. Her figure became smaller until it vanished beyond the heavy velvet curtains.

"Great job, Braden," he muttered to himself, sarcasm dripping from every word. His hand ran through his hair, a gesture of frustration that seemed to say, "What were you thinking?"

"Really smooth," he added, his words echoing off the empty walls. He could almost hear Dash, his faithful golden retriever, giving him a disappointed woof in his head. "Scaring her off with your big, bad questions." He grimaced, picturing her troubled expression, the way her curvy frame had tensed before her hasty retreat. "Maybe I should stick to searching for actual bombs rather than setting off verbal ones," he sighed, half-expecting his instructors to pop up with a wisecrack about his less-than-stellar social skills.

"Sure, let's just throw a wrench in the one decent conversation we've had," he continued his self-deprecation, hoping humor might mask the prick of regret. "Because who needs meaningful connections when you've got awkward silences and runaway beauty queens?" He gave a hollow chuckle as he shook his head, his thoughts already plotting an apology or at least a peace offering. "Maybe a coffee and a muffin from Michelle's shop will help her forgive me," he mumbled to himself. Considering she probably wouldn't want the calories from the muffin, that wasn't the best idea.

"Or maybe just keep your mouth shut next time, Harding," he chastised himself, the weight of the evening pressing downlike a lead cloak. "Definitely need to work on those people skills," he concluded.

As he made his way to the veterinarian clinic, he imagined Dash's wagging tail and nonjudgmental eyes. At least someone was always happy to see him, and for now, that would have to do.

Just as he was about to descend into full-blown pity, his phone buzzed against the pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out, squinting at the screen. A text message from Instructor Bowman.

"Lay off the guilt trip already," it read, "We heard what happened. Remember, we are K9 handlers, not therapists. It's better if you just stay in your lane."

Braden huffed a laugh. Trust Danny to bring him down to earth. He typed back a quick response: "Thanks for the reminder."

His phone buzzed again immediately, "And for goodness' sake, get her that muffin."

"From the Coffee Loft?" Braden texted back, picturing Hadley's clear blue eyes lighting up at the sight of a warm blueberry muffin.

"No," came the response quicker than he thought possible, "From some bakery in New York. Of course, from the Coffee Loft."

Braden chuckled as he reshuffled his priorities. Dash could wait another half an hour at the vet.

As he turned his steps toward the Coffee Loft, his heart seemed lighter than before. It was funny how one small action could change his perspective completely. Suddenly, buying a muffin didn't seem like just an empty apology anymore.

"Let's hope I won't mess this one up, too," he murmured to himself. A slight smile tugged at his lips for the first time since Hadley rushed off in a huff.

Arriving at the Coffee Loft, he paused before entering. The smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wafted through the door, coaxing him in. The owner, Michelle Kenney, stood behind the counter, her blonde hair pulled back and her hazel eyes sparkling. She was always a welcoming sight, her upbeat energy infectious.

"Braden, long time no see." She greeted with a hint of sarcasm in her warm voice. "The usual?"

He nodded but added, "And one of your blueberry muffins."

Michelle's eyebrows shot up. "You don't seem like the blueberry muffin type."

Braden grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but at Michelle's knowing smirk. "It's not for me," he admitted.

"No worries," she chuckled, bagging up a muffin. "Everyone knows the fastest way to Hadley Wilder's heart is via food. Mostly because her mother monitors every single bite that girl puts in her mouth."

He didn't like the sound of that. The more he found out about Hadley's mom, the more he began to realize she must be the root of Hadley's problems. It must be exhausting having to live up to someone else's unrealistic expectations all the time.

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