“I guess this isn’t so bad,” Mason mumbled as they paused at the double-doors, open to the outside to no doubt exchange some of the fresher, cooler night air for the beer-enhanced, slightly sweat-infused air of the hall.
There’d been no attempt made at dressing up the exterior of the building. But for the neon pink Bristol board bearing the words Maynooth Community Fundraiser Dance—Tickets $5, Mason might have assumed they had the wrong place.
“This is not a barn,” Jack had said.
“You have an astounding capability for deduction,” Mason had teased.
“I don’t think this is the place,” Jack had continued, even though Mason knew Jack was reading the same sign he was. Then he’d all but whined when Mason reached for the door handle of the car. “Please, God, don’t let this be the place.”
It w
