Page 8 of Small Town Sash

Hadley's heart raced with the thrill of potential. Candace Kealy's offer dangled before her like a shimmering gown on a runway, full of promise and excitement. As she stood in front of her bedroom mirror, trying to envision herself sewing and stitching rather than sashaying and speech-giving, her reflection seemed to morph into her mother's disapproving stare.

"Mom," Hadley ventured later that evening, "what would you say if I told you I wanted to learn fashion design?"

Her mother was perched at the edge of the sofa, meticulously examining a rhinestone tiara. Without looking up, she replied, "Darling, focus. You have a pageant to win, not a craft show."

Hadley sighed, the weight of expectation pressing down on her curvy frame. "But it's just?—"

"Pageants first," her mother cut in, finally meeting her daughter's gaze with a look that left no room for argument. "Always."

"Right," Hadley mumbled, feeling the seams of her dreams fraying at the edges.

The next day, as Hadley walked to pageant practice, her thoughts stitched back and forth between sequins and self-discovery. She didn't see Braden until they almost collided—literally.

"Whoa," the soldier from the coffee shop steadied her with firm hands on her shoulders for a second time in two days. "Sorry, I should watch where I'm going."

"Me too," Hadley said, cheeks warming. "Hi again."

"Hi." He flashed a grin that could disarm any conflict.

They resumed walking, side by side this time, the rhythm of their steps syncing casually.

"Headed to the pageant practice?" he asked, nodding toward the building in the distance.

"Guilty," she said with a playful roll of her eyes.

"Can't escape destiny, huh?"

"Feels more like a detention sometimes," Hadley confessed, surprising herself with the honesty.

"Detention? Never took you for the rebellious type."

"Maybe I'm not." Hadley bit her lip, thinking of Candace's offer. "But what if I want to be?"

"Ah, the plot thickens," he chuckled, his brown eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Speaking of plots," Hadley began, then hesitated. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Ever feel trapped in someone else's story?"

"Not really. I like to think I write my own story." His smile faded, a shadow of seriousness flickering across his face. "Which means we get to write our own endings, right?"

"Right," Hadley echoed, boosted by his words.

"Good luck in there," he said as they reached the entrance. "Not that you need it."

"Thanks." Hadley paused, taking in the moment. "And good luck with...whatever you're doing today."

"Thanks. I'll need it," he replied with a wink. "I'm one of the judges for the pageant."

Hadley's eyes widened with shock. "You'rewhat?"

"I'm a judge. Surprise?" Braden's eyes sparkled with mischief.

Her mouth fell open, and then she snapped it shut, managing a shaky laugh. "Well, this just keeps getting weirder."

Braden chuckled. "Tell me about it."

"Okay then, Judge Harding," she said, adding an exaggerated curtsy for effect. "May the odds be ever in my favor."

"I'll be on your side, Hadley." His response was earnest, and she felt her heart give a tiny flutter. "But you can't tell anyone else that, or I'm sure I'll get a huge ration of heat for it."

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