Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
The autumn sun came through the small window above the front door, throwing a long rectangle of pale yellow light across the hardwood floor.
Mason carried our overnight bags, setting them down carefully near the umbrella stand so they would not block the path.
“She said she would be ready by nine,” Mason said, his voice quiet in the morning stillness.
He rubbed his collarbone with his thumb, his fingers brushing against the stiff edge of his jacket collar.
Well, we both knew she had not slept much after the excitement of the evening, but the kitchen already smelled of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread.
I walked down the short hallway toward the guest bathroom to wash the dust of the road from my hands before we sat down.
The door was slightly ajar, showing a sliver of the clean white tile and the edge of the porcelain sink.
I pushed the door open and stopped on the threshold, my eyes falling immediately on the marble vanity.
The peach towel that had previously hidden the space was folded neatly on the towel bar, dry and clean.
