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Just as you had regained your composure and was ready to return to the
party, you heard the sharp click of a heel coming down on the floor at
the doorway behind you. You turned, slowly, knowing that it couldn’t
be her, both hoping and fearing that it was. And, of course, it was:
she was wearing her hat and carrying her riding crop, dressed as if
ready to depart. She continued to walk up to you as you stood
motionless, your mouth dry and heart pounding so loud you were afraid
it might drowned out the band. She stopped her confident stride only
three feet from you, and then (with an ironic smile) doffed her hat in
a graceful bow.
One last dance? she asked, eyes smiling and deep, velvet over steel.
Yes, you said, so softly you were sure no one else could hear. But
from your body, your face, you knew what you were saying to her: Yes.
Please. Anything. I beg you.
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