Chapter 4
Their Christmas-in-July sale was something Ben Miller and his dad, Howard, did every year. Their nod to the memory of Ben’s
mom, who had been gone five Christmases this coming December. Word spread after the first few years, and now people came from
all over Georgia to take part in the event.
The draw wasn’t just that the vintage store items were on sale. Millers’ collected Christmas antiques all year in anticipation
of this event, so customers had come to expect they would find not only the best objects from the past, but also the best
pieces from Christmases gone by.
As Charles Dickens would say, heirlooms from Christmas long past.
Ben watched his dad at the register. Their part-time clerk was Gary Owens, Ben’s second cousin, his dad’s first cousin. Both
men were in their early seventies. Mainly, Gary showed up to play an ongoing mean game of chess with Ben’s father. But days
like this everyone at the store worked hard. The place was packed.
“Ben, I got something for you.” His dad wore a Santa hat and shorts. Sure, it was nearly a hundred degrees outside and the humidity was suffocating. But inside Millers’ Antiques the air-conditioning was full blast, and it was indeed Christmas in July.
Ben jogged to the register. “I’m here. You need help?” The line was three people deep.
“We’re good.” He grinned at Ben. “Give me a minute.”
A few feet away, Gary rang a bell. “Hundredth sale of the day!”
“Every time a bell rings . . .” Ben’s dad winked at his cousin.
Gary didn’t miss a beat. “An angel gets its wings.” The two old guys were gray and goofy and good with antiques. Every day
was a gift for them and for everyone who walked through the doors.
Ben loved working with them.
“Hot dog!” His father welcomed the next customer à la George Bailey. Then he turned to Ben. “Got a new box of antiques behind
the counter. You wanna get ’em out on the floor for me please, son?”
“You got it.” Ben found the box. Mixed Christmas dishes from an estate sale in New York. The pieces were finely etched with
deep red and gold, a design that was likely from London.
This was what set Millers’ Antiques apart. His dad knew how to comb the online estate sales and store closures across the
country, so that every few days a box or two would arrive. Old treasures that would be picked up by their customers as quickly
as he and his father could put them on the shelves.
Ben had seen himself going into finance when he graduated college two decades ago. The store had been his parents’ idea, but when business began to boom, Ben’s choice was an easy one. Why help a stranger’s business thrive when he could help this one?
Gary came along even before Ben’s mom had passed. The business had been a family affair ever since—and a lucrative one.
Weaving his way past the hundred-year-old Bibles and two-hundred-year-old typewriters, Ben took the box of dishes to the housewares
section. He picked up the first plate and turned it around. Sure confirmed his guess. London, England, 1911. These plates
wouldn’t last a day.
With practiced care Ben set the dishes on the shelf, propping the prettiest of the group up on the display easels. He was
still doing that when he heard a voice that caught his attention. He looked back at the register and tried not to stare. A
woman had entered the store. She wore shorts and a T-shirt, and her long dark hair framed her pretty face.
Ben had an antique plate in his hand, and suddenly he had to remind himself not to drop it. She was talking to his father,
asking something Ben couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was, the woman smiled and nodded. Then she headed straight for the
Christmas jewelry section. Their store had one of the best displays of antique holiday baubles in the country.
His father walked with the woman and motioned to a counter of boxes. “Take your time. If it’s here, you’ll find it.” He patted
his stomach like Santa Claus. “Interesting things happen during Christmas in July.”
The woman laughed. Her voice sounded almost lyrical. “Thank you.”
More than half the customers who came into the store were female, and typically Ben did nothing more than direct them to the
right part of the store. But something about this customer took his breath. Like he’d seen her somewhere before and had never
been able to forget her.
Ben set the box of plates down and walked to her. She was sorting through a box of rings. He studied her for a moment and
decided to have a little fun. “You getting married?”
She looked up, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”
He took a step closer. Was it just him or was her tone a little flirty? “You’re looking at wedding rings. That’s what you
do when you’re thinking about getting married.”
“No.” A slight blush colored her cheeks. “I’m not getting married. I’m . . . looking for something I lost. A ring.”
As if they were the only two people in the store, Ben came up beside her and checked out the rings in the box. “What does
it look like?”
“Antique gold. Sparkly with a red stone at the center. Small diamonds surround it.”
“Hmm.” Ben turned just enough to face her. “Beautiful.”
The woman didn’t catch his double meaning. She kept looking through the box. “It’s not worth much. Except to me.”
“Well . . .” Ben couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I’m Ben Miller.”
“Miller.” The woman looked to the store register and then back to Ben. “As in Millers’ Antiques? Best Christmas heirlooms in the state?”
“Yes.” Ben chuckled. “My dad and I own the place.”
“Wow.” She looked around, studying the displays. “I’m impressed.” Her eyes found the register. “Was that your dad with—”
“The Santa hat and shorts? Yes.”
This time they both laughed. Again, Ben felt it. Like he’d met her somewhere before. That’s when he noticed the wedding ring
on her left hand. He took the slightest step back.
The woman looked straight at him. “I’m Vanessa Mayfield.”
“Hi, Vanessa.” Now that he’d seen her ring, he wasn’t about to flirt with her. “You live in Marietta?”
“Two hours south. Near Fort Benning. Dropped my daughter, Sadie, off at Reinhardt University an hour ago. Her honors program
starts early.” She shrugged. “I needed something to cheer me up. So here I am.”
Ben allowed the moment to linger. “I’m glad.” He had to ask, had to find out if she was taken. “So . . . you’re already married?”
“No.” A sadness flashed in her eyes. “Widowed. My husband was an army medic. He died in combat four years ago.”
He hadn’t expected that. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Clearly Vanessa had given this explanation many times before. She smiled at him. “What about you?”
“Also widowed.” They were the same. This tragic exchange forever a part of who they were. “We were in our early thirties when it happened.”
Her eyes held his. “Not many people get it.”
Maybe that was why she had felt familiar. The fact that their stories were so alike.
“It’s Sadie and me now, the two of us. I’m not ready to let her go.” Vanessa sifted through another box of rings. “She always
tells me I’m her best friend.”
Just then Ben’s dad came dancing down the aisle, carrying a tray full of plastic cups. “Gingerbread iced tea!” He swooped
the tray toward Ben and Vanessa. “Help yourself!”
More laughter between them, and they each took a cup. Howard winked first at Ben, then at Vanessa. “People come back for the
gingerbread iced tea!” He poked his elbow at Ben. “Isn’t that right, son?”
“You got it, Dad. It’s all about the gingerbread iced tea.” He watched his father dance his way to the next customer.
“He’s amazing.” Vanessa shook her head.
“He is.” Ben clicked his plastic cup with hers. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Vanessa looked through the rest of the box. “So . . . why the focus on Christmas? How did that happen?”
“My mom. But honestly it just made sense. Antiques and Christmas.” Ben took his time. He didn’t want this lovely stranger
to ever leave. “Both bring yesterday to life again.”
“Nice.” She grinned. “You’re a poet.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He hung his head before meeting her eyes again. “Blame it on Walt Whitman. I’m a big fan.”
“‘Keep your face always toward the sunshine.’” She delivered the line like she’d said it a thousand times. “‘And the shadows will fall behind you.’”
“Okay. Now I’m impressed.” Ben wanted to check his feet to make sure he was still standing on the floor. But he maintained
eye contact.
“Antique lovers and Walt Whitman sort of go hand in hand.” She picked up a bracelet from a third box.
“Like poetry, antiques are proof that the past happened. That it was real.”
“And it mattered.” Vanessa’s smile warmed his heart. “Even Walt Whitman couldn’t have said it like that.”
Their conversation continued. He asked about Sadie and the missing Christmas ring, how she had lost it and where she thought
it might be.
“I pray I’ll find it someday.” She didn’t look discouraged. “I’ll always pray to find it.” She told him how she still stopped
into the occasional antique shop to see if it might be there. “That’s why I’m here.”
A wave of customers entered the store.
“Ben!” His father sounded panicked. “A little help, please!”
“Coming!” Ben looked at Vanessa. “Tell you what.” He took out his phone and handed it to her. “Give me your number and I’ll
text you. Next time you’re in town we can go antiquing. Look for your ring.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’d like that.” She typed in her contact information and handed the phone back to him.
“I’ll text you.” He grinned and jogged off to the front of the store. The best feeling came over him as he reached the register.
His dad was explaining to a customer the type of antiques the store bought. “These are not ordinary old goods.” His father
was passionate about the contents of their shop. “We sell treasures, ma’am. Within the walls of this place, you just might
find a diamond in the rough!”
Ben thought about Vanessa Mayfield and his father’s comment. He smiled to himself.
Indeed.
The first text from Ben Miller came before Vanessa reached her car.