Candace's eyes sparkled with admiration. "Proud of you," she said gently, patting Hadley's hand. "Everyone should get to chase their dreams."
"Even if those dreams involve a sewing machine instead of a tiara," Avery added with a grin.
Jenesa was next to join in. "You know we've got your back, right? No matter what."
Hadley nodded, touched by their support. "I know," she murmured, looking around the table at each face she had grown so fond of. "And I'm so grateful to have all of you in my life."
"Speaking of dreams," Jenesa suddenly said with a warm smile. "I have big news of my own." All eyes turned to her as she continued. "I'm pregnant."
"Oh my goodness," Avery cried, nearly jumping out of her seat. "That's amazing, Jenesa. I'm so happy for you and Danny."
"Seems Hadley isn't the only one chasing dreams these days," Candace mused with a smile. "Congrats."
"Does this mean I get to plan a baby shower?" Avery questioned, but before her friend could respond, she was already rattling off the list of food she wanted to make for it.
Jenesa laughed and nodded. "Of course, you're in charge, Avery," she assured her best friend.
"But we're helping," Hadley insisted.
"Count us in," Candace confirmed. "Whatever you need."
At the quaint little bistro, laughter echoed through the room, stirring up warmth and happiness within its walls as they shifted their attention to dessert.
As they all celebrated their respective victories and dreams amidst hearty laughter and shared tales, Hadley felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. She had chosen a different path—one filled with uncertainties and possible hurdles—but she knew she wasn't alone. With the support of her new friends, she knew she could do anything she set her mind to.
Chapter Fourteen
Braden strode into the "Miss Hero" pageant headquarters, his determination as solid as his military posture. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of agitated bees, casting a stark glow on the scattering of desks and disarray of papers. A sense of urgency propelled him forward, past the clacking keyboards and ringing phones, to the office marked "Organizers" at the far end of the room.
"Excuse me," he said, rapping briskly on the doorframe. Two sets of weary eyes flicked up. One belonged to a man with a bow tie hanging askew, the other to a woman whose glasses perched perilously on the bridge of her nose.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked, her tone suggesting that she could do without another problem.
"Braden Harding." He extended a hand, his grip firm. "I have information regarding Hadley Wilder's disqualification."
"Ah, yes, the backstage argument debacle," the man murmured, adjusting his tie as if it would help him think better. "George Wallace told us all about it."
"More like sabotage," Braden corrected.
A collective eyebrow raised. He had their attention now.
"Go on," the woman urged, pushing her glasses up.
"Mrs. Matilda Shomacker," Braden started, but before he could continue, the woman cut in.
"Hero's most nosy neighbor? What about her?" Bow Tie asked with a tilt of his head.
"Turns out, she's more than just nosy. She orchestrated the whole mess to discredit Hadley,"— Braden's voice was even, factual— "and she did everything she could to make Hadley look bad."
"How's that?" Bow Tie asked, leaning forward.
"Let's just say Mrs. Shomacker has a talent for creating chaos where there is none. She did her best to make it look like Hadley was intimately involved with one of the judges when that wasn't the case."
"And how do you know all of this?"
"Well, first, I was the judge in question," he admitted. "And I can vouch that nothing inappropriate ever went on between Miss Wilder and myself. Secondly, there were multiple witnesses as to what happened and how Mrs. Shomacker started the fight. All you have to do is question them to provide proof. I have a list of names if you want them."
Braden watched as realization dawned on the organizers' faces, their expressions shifting from skepticism to concern.