Suzanne Beecher

Dear Reader,

Forty-six years. On Sunday, my husband, Bob, and I will have been married for 46 years. It's romantic just thinking about it. Lately I've been adding to my conversations, "Oh, did I tell you that on December 18th, Bob and I will be married 46 years!" People smile and look at me with amazement. Truthfully, my husband and I are amazed too, whenever we say "46 years" out loud. Time passes way too quickly when you're in love.

Forty-six years, we may be getting older, but the romance is still in bloom. When we get in the car to go somewhere, my husband opens my door and frequently tells me, "Suzanne, when we're driving somewhere together it still feels like we're on a date."

It was a simple start, married by a Justice of the Peace. No diamond ring, instead I wear a gold initial ring on my finger that was passed down through my husband's family. No honeymoon. My husband and I were running a business together (we've worked side-by-side for all 46 years) and we couldn't get away for a honeymoon. But we hardly even noticed. The important thing was just being together, and we still feel that way today.

When friends ask, "What are you going to do to celebrate 46 years?" 

I tell them, "Nothing special, we'll probably split a sandwich, sit on a bench near some shops and do some people watching."

That might not sound very exciting to most people, but when you're still crazy in love it's a very special celebration, to simply do a little bit of "nothing" with the man who has loved and cherished you for 46 years.

Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.

Peace be with you this holiday season,

Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@firstlookbookclub.com

P. S. This week we're giving away 10 copies of the book One Last Gift: A Novel by Emily Stone. Click here to enter for your chance to win. 

(continued from Thursday)

She bit her lip as she took another step. She hadn't gotten him anything. Sometimes they did jokey presents—and the four of them had done Secret Santa for a few years, but they'd said nothing about it this year, and she hadn't thought to get him something. OK, fine, that wasn't entirely true—she had thought about getting him something, but she'd worried it would look weird or he'd be awkward or something, and then she hadn't been able to think of what to get him that wouldn't look as though she'd gone overboard but wasn't, like, socks or a pen or something.

He thrust the box into her hands, not quite making eye contact. "Come on," he said, a bit gruffly. "Open it."

"I didn't get you anything," she admitted.

He rolled his eyes in a way that diffused some of the subtle tension between them. "Just open it, Cass."

She lifted the lid from the box. A necklace, she saw, and took it out to examine it, the silver chain cool against her already cold fingers. Her breath caught when she saw the pendant. It was a stone. A stone, from when they'd all gone to the beach together months ago, over the summer holidays. She'd found some beautiful ones and it had felt sad that they were there unappreciated; they'd seemed almost lonely out there on the beach, so she'd collected the best ones and given one each to Tom, Sam, and Hazel.

"It's the stone you gave me at—"

"I remember," Cassie murmured, embarrassed to find that there was a lump in her throat. She traced the stone with her fingertips.

"Right." Sam cleared his throat. "I just . . . This is making it beautiful, right? Giving it time to . . . whatever."

She looked up at Sam to see him running a hand across the back of his neck, looking incredibly embarrassed—more than she thought she'd ever seen him before.

"I took it into a shop and they made it into a necklace for me. It's stupid," he continued, words coming quickly," you don't have to keep it—I just thought . . ."

"I love it," she said, firmly but softly. And then, after a brief moment of hesitation, she reached up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. It was something she'd never done before, and it felt very grown up, like they were both on the verge of something else, something older, something new. She felt Sam go very still, felt the whisper of his breath on her ear as he exhaled. "Thank you," she murmured.

They stared at one another, and Cassie saw the stars reflected in his eyes. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Like she didn't dare breathe, in case it ruined this moment. She should smile or squeal and throw her arms around him. Something she'd done so many times before. But she couldn't bring herself to.

"Cassie," Sam said, his voice husky. He reached out to toy with that lock of hair again, and her neck tingled. "I—"

"There you guys are!"

Cassie jolted away from Sam as Tom came outside.

"Come on. Hazel's guarding the table, and Linda will be forcing us all to sing Christmas carols soon—you can't leave us alone for that."

Cassie snorted. "I hear you practicing your singing in the shower often enough—I'm surprised you don't want a solo." Together, Sam and Cassie crossed to where Tom was standing. Cassie didn't dare look at Sam, though she was still clutching the necklace and the cardboard box in her hand.

"Jealous of my incredible singing voice, Chipmunk?"

Cassie wrinkled her nose at the nickname he only pulled out when he was being deliberately annoying—referring to her height and the fact that when she was growing up her front teeth had looked way too big for her. Something which she'd been self-conscious enough about without him reminding her of it—not that he ever seemed to get that.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll show us all up with that squeaky little chipmunk voice of yours."

"I do not have a squeaky chipmunk—"

"Ah, there it is."

Cassie scowled at Tom, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him like a four-year-old. She glanced up at Sam, whose face was carefully neutral—clearly determined not to get in the middle. Something he'd practiced enough, she supposed. He was always on Tom's side really, Cassie knew—he was Tom's friend before he was hers—but she appreciated the effort he made not to make that obvious.

"Ah, come on," Tom said, swinging his arm around Cassie and pulling her back into the warmth of the pub. "You can't be too annoyed with me, or I won't give you your first clue tomorrow."

She wrinkled her nose, then sighed, leaning into him. "It better be rhyming, that's all I can say."

"Of course," Tom said, putting his hand on his heart dramatically. "Do you think I want a repeat of the tantrums of '03?"

She ignored the jibe and just said, "Good. It's not a treasure hunt if it doesn't rhyme."

"So you've told me—multiple times."

Cassie glanced over her shoulder at Sam. He met her gaze, gave her a little smile, then came up on the other side of Tom, clapping him on the back as they reached their table. And as she sat down, Cassie slipped the necklace into the pocket of her leather jacket before she took it off. She didn't want it on display just yet. She'd tell Hazel later, and no doubt Tom would find out, one way or another, but for tonight, on Christmas Eve, she wanted it to be something that was just hers. 

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