If you haven’t read February 13 yet, you can do so here.

If you stumbled onto this post by accident and haven’t read any of the other stories, head over to this post to find out more about this project.

“Remember when we were gallivanting about like them?” Margaret followed her partner’s gaze to a couple of youngens cuddled up on an armchair meant for one. Try as she might, she couldn’t account for all of their limbs and suspected at least one hand had snuck beneath a shirt or dress. She blushed.

If I looked like that I might still be canoodling.” Lyn laughed. 

“There was nothing like this back then.” Margaret took a sip from her tea and returned to her crossword puzzle, but Lyn wasn’t done. “They would’ve sunk that ship before it even got out the harbor. I don’t know if these young folk know how good they have it sometimes.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Margaret looked back to her crossword, she’d been trying to find a six letter word for energetic sort. 12 across. 

“Maybe I should go tell them.”

“No dear. Leave them to it. Remember when we were young?”

“The days before your boobs sagged were a wonder.” Margaret tossed a glare to her partner.

“Yours aren’t looking so perky now either.”

Lyn shrugged. 

“We would’ve been just like them if people had been more accepting.”

“Worse,” Margaret replied with a mischievous grin.

“Worse,” Lyn agreed.

For a moment they held each other’s gaze. They had long ago settled into a comfortable routine, they’d been together so long Margaret sometimes forgot they were different people. Looking at Lyn, it all came back to her. For a moment, Lyn was 18 again. Long brown hair pinned back with a bow. Perfectly pressed dress, the softest petticoat imaginable, but underneath all of that she was a daredevil and a go getter. A dynamo. 

12 across. Energetic sort. A dynamo. Just like her Lyn.

“You know, it’s been 60 years but sometimes you still take my breath away.”

Lyn blushed.

“Hopefully not for too long. I don’t need you up and dying. I told you. I’m going first.”

Margaret laughed. She hoped the youngens canoodling on the sofa would make it. Young love was all sorts of fun but old love, old love was like the best pair of shoes you’ve ever owned, your favorite blanket, a steaming beef stew, and a fluffy cat all rolled into one handy person. There was nothing to compare. 

You can read February 15 here.

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