Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“I am,” I said.
He stood up, his chair scraping against the polished wood floor. He did not tap his glass with a spoon; instead, he simply reached down and took my hand, pulling me up beside him.
“We are going to the center of the floor,” Mason said to the table.
Evelyn looked up, her fork pausing halfway to her plate. “The first dance isn’t scheduled for another twenty minutes, Mason.”
“We have a different schedule tonight,” Mason said, his voice quiet but steady.
He led me out onto the middle of the large, circular dance floor. The band stopped playing their soft dinner music, the saxophonist lowering his instrument as the room began to quiet down.
Our guests stopped talking, their faces turning toward us in the middle of the empty space.
“What are they doing?” someone whispered from a table near the back.
Mason walked back to our table and reached underneath, his hand finding the wooden box we had hidden there. He pulled it out, the dark mahogany wood catching the light of the chandeliers.
