“Maybe,” she admitted, pulling him back up. “But you let me.”
Normally, the Harvest Festival ended with a pie-eating contest or a square dance. But this year, the mayor had lost a bet. And the mayor, a sharp-eyed woman named Hailey Cross, always collected her debts. Hailey Makes The Boy Bride
The ceremony was a spectacle. The minister, a man with a wobbling voice, asked, “Do you, Leo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” “Maybe,” she admitted, pulling him back up
“Stop fidgeting,” Hailey murmured, adjusting the veil that cascaded down his broad shoulders. She was dressed in a sharp, tailored tuxedo, her auburn hair slicked back. Her grin was that of a cat who had not only caught the canary but had also taught it to sing opera. And the mayor, a sharp-eyed woman named Hailey
She took his hand, laced her fingers through his, and led him home—not as a loser of a bet, but as the husband she’d decided to win a long time ago. And Leo, the boy bride, finally stopped fidgeting and started smiling.
He’d lost the bet on purpose. The bridge was perfect.
“I want a wedding,” Hailey had announced at the town council meeting, her boots up on the oak table. “And I’m not the one wearing the dress.”