Shirl Henke is one of our Friday cupids and shares a fond memory with us of how she and her husband (and writing partner) keep the homefires burning.  Catch their latest release, The River Nymph (Leisure, 29 Jan 08).

My most romantic moment was actually the evening of my 30th wedding anniversary. Jim, who can be a crude lout at times, does have his redeeming qualities. He suggested that we go to dinner at a restaurant we both enjoyed for seafood to celebrate. Sounded good to me. Our anniversary is in August, so it was hot in St. Louis. Casually, he suggested I wear something “cool.” Sounded good to me, again.

We set out down Lindburgh, a major arterial in the metro area, headed for the Bristol. Often when we used that street, we would pass the small motel where we had spent our honeymoon as impoverished grad students getting married on a dime. Miraculously, it had survived the wrecking ball for well over three decades, and we would always comment on its still being there. Jim would say something unflattering about it being part of his downfall and permanent servitude…you get the picture.

Well, this warm summer evening, we drew near that little “courtel” and I was about to mention it when he surprised me by turning into the parking lot. Puzzled, I looked over at him and asked what was going on. He just smiled and got out of the car in front of the little cabin/room where we’d spent our first night as husband and wife. He walked around the car, opened the door and helped me out. I was too flabbergasted by this time to speak. He swept me into his arms (I swear I am not making this up!) and walked to the door of “our” room. That was when I noticed that he had a key in one hand. Setting me down, he unlocked room #14 and picked me up again. When he carried me over the threshold and closed the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Dim summer light streamed in through the drawn draperies, reflecting on the knotty pine paneled walls (I told you it was an old motel, didn’t I?). But that wasn’t what held my attention. Rather, it was the bed, strewn with dozens of long-stemmed red roses, candles arranged all around the room and a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne chilling inside it. There were 30 roses, one for each year we’d been married. He opened the champagne and poured it into two glasses while explaining how he’d slipped out that morning to bring everything to the motel, then paid the manager to put ice and the champagne in the bucket and strew the thornless roses across the bed just an hour before we arrived. He lit the candles and we sipped the wine as we carefully picked the roses off the bed and placed them in a tall vase full of water, also provided by Jim’s plan-ahead ingenuity.

By that time I knew why he’d suggested I wear “cool clothes.” They’re also easier to remove than stuff with lots of buttons. As to the rest of the evening…I’ll leave some things shared only between the two of us. Even romance writers have to draw the line somewhere, but readers have excellent imaginations. Suffice it to say, we would have been late for our eight o’clock dinner reservation if Jim hadn’t called and changed it.

Although the Stanley Courtel finally did succumb to the wrecking ball a few years ago, I still have three of those thirty roses dried and placed carefully in a crystal bowl in our dining room breakfront…and a memory to last a lifetime.

Happy Valentines Day, romance lovers, everywhere!

Shirl Henke

What an amazing memory and what inspiration for the rest of us!  C’mon readers – what do you do to celebrate the anniversaries?