Chapter 11
They were still holding hands.
That was all Vanessa could think about as she and Ben walked into the oldest bookstore in Columbus. Ben still had hold of
her hand. The touch of his fingers against hers, the way it felt to walk at his side with their hands connected . . . It was
a feeling Vanessa never thought she’d feel again.
She had thought if they got to this point in their friendship, if things took a romantic turn, then she’d feel guilty about
Alan. But she didn’t. Instead, the way her heart and feet floated along beside Ben made her happier than she’d felt in years.
Happy and beyond hopeful.
Vanessa knew the old bookstore well. She led Ben to the back and a section of vintage poetry books. Ben’s eyes lit up as they
reached the shelves. He reached for one by Walt Whitman. “Are you kidding me?”
“I saved the best for last.” Vanessa stood a few feet from him, studying him. Thrilled by him. “I figured they’d still have
the Whitman book.”
Ben thumbed through it. “Most people don’t think Walt was a believer.”
“I’ve read that.” Vanessa angled her head, imagining the brilliant mind of Whitman and his complicated beliefs. “He’s credited with being a skeptic. The founder of a new religion that sort of broke the bonds of traditional beliefs.”
Ben glanced at Vanessa. “I don’t agree with all that. Walt believed God was in all created things. That always made sense
to me.” He lowered the book and looked out the nearby window. “For me, I see God in the sky and stars, the flowers and fields.
I see Him there because those are His creations.”
“Mmm.” Vanessa followed his gaze. “When Sadie was little, she would create these pretty paintings and we’d hang them on the
fridge.” She smiled, lost in the memory. “When she’d be at school, I would walk by and see her creation. And I’d see her,
too. Because she made that drawing. Everything about those art pieces had her written into the design.”
“I knew you’d get it.” Ben held up the book. “This one is for you.” He set it aside and turned his attention back to the shelves
of antique books. “We always wanted a section like this in the store. There just isn’t room.”
Vanessa thumbed through a few of the titles. “My mom used to say if we lose the old books, we lose history itself.”
“And when do I get to meet her?” He chuckled.
“Maybe the morning after the dance.” She smiled. “My parents live in Florida. They work full time for a church there. No retiring
for those two.” She laughed. “But they’re coming for a few weeks on Christmas Eve.”
“Your mom sounds very wise.”
“They both are. I got my love for the poets and old writers from them.” Vanessa turned to him. “And you?”
“My love for poetry came from my dad. How he loves old things. But it was my wife who taught me the love of books.” He paused.
“On our first anniversary she bought me a set of US history titles. No agenda back then. Just history.”
“Tell me about her.” Vanessa’s voice was soft. “Will you?”
From the beginning with Vanessa, Ben hadn’t talked about Laura. Not any more than Vanessa had talked about Alan. But here,
lost in the shelves of ancient words and fragile tomes, he seemed to let the past come to life. If only for a few moments.
“Laura was my high school sweetheart. She was there for our shop’s grand opening.” His smile softened. “She always thought
our kids would run the place someday.”
Vanessa let that settle. “What happened?”
“She had health issues from the beginning. We found out she couldn’t have children, then a few days before her thirty-fourth
birthday, she got her diagnosis.” He sighed. “She was gone ten months later.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I told you about my men’s Bible study. The guy who leads it helped me navigate that time. I never lost hope, but it took
time.”
“So . . . eight years ago.”
“Eight summers. Summer was our season.” He reached out and touched Vanessa’s arm. “I never thought there’d be anyone else.
I couldn’t imagine finding . . . you.”
“Me either.” Vanessa covered his hand with her own and their eyes held. “I never dreamed I’d be—”
“Excuse me.” A fancy woman in her late sixties stepped by them. “I need to see this shelf.”
Vanessa and Ben stepped in opposite directions to make room for her. Ben’s eyes met Vanessa’s and the two covered a laugh.
So much for privacy. The woman sorted through a quick handful of books and grabbed an old copy of a Ray Bradbury classic.
She held it up with the hint of a smile. “Carry on.”
Vanessa felt like a schoolgirl caught talking in the library. “She must be fun at the holidays.”
“Eccentric is always fun.” Ben chuckled.
Vanessa surveyed the store. No one else seemed to desperately need a vintage book from this section. For now, they were alone
again. She couldn’t look away from Ben. She felt completely taken by him. “Where were we?”
Ben kept his distance, but he reached for her hand once more. “Right about here, I believe.”
“Yes. That was it.” She searched his eyes. Suddenly she no longer worried about being too honest with him. “You’re leaving
in an hour. Why is that all I can think about?”
“Just for the night.” He never looked away. “I’ll take the treasures home to my dad and be back tomorrow afternoon.” He stepped
toward her, almost closing the gap between them. “And tomorrow night . . .” He ran his thumb over her hand. “Tomorrow, could
I take you out on a date?”
She could feel her cheeks blush. Something that happened often when she was with him. “I’d like that very much.”
“Okay then.” He smiled. “It’s settled.”
He bought the Walt Whitman and another one—an American classic poetry collection—for his shop back in Marietta. “It’ll be
nice seeing it on the shelves,” he told her as they waited at the register. “As long as it lasts, anyway.”
Vanessa pulled her sweater closer. The bookstore was drafty and today was chillier than yesterday. “How come that one?”
“Because.” His eyes sparkled. “It reminds me of you. An American classic.”
Again, he looked like he wanted to take her in his arms, but Vanessa knew he wouldn’t. This was her hometown and people might
catch on to the fact that Vanessa Mayfield wasn’t chumming around with merely a good friend. Anyone could see they were already
so much more.
The store owner approached and rang up the sale.
“Mr. Wright.” Vanessa nodded at him. She cast a glance at Ben. Her look told him she knew the man. Vanessa looked at the owner
again. “Are you ready for Christmas?”
“I am. My wife’s already cooking.” The man looked at Ben and then Vanessa. Clearly, he knew something was up. He winked at
Vanessa. “Seems you found what you were looking for.”
Vanessa’s smile felt as genuine as the Georgia sun. She cast Ben another quick look and then she smiled at the shop owner
again. “Yes, sir. I believe I have.”
Once they were out front, Ben handed her the Walt Whitman book. “To the only other person I know who can quote Mr. Whitman.”
Vanessa was touched to the depths of her soul. She took the gift and studied it. “Thank you.”
This time, Ben didn’t seem to care if the shop owner was watching. He drew Vanessa into his arms. She held on to him as tightly
as he held on to her. Until the chill in the air disappeared and all she could feel was the warmth of his body against hers.
If only he would kiss her and tell her how he really felt, how he couldn’t imagine being only her friend. In time. Give it time.
“I like this.” He leaned back enough to see her face. “I don’t want to let you go.”
“Same.” She put her hand alongside his face. “This doesn’t feel real.”
“But it is.”
She could feel Ben’s breath near her hair. A joy welled up inside her.
“Walk me to my truck?”
Vanessa nodded and he took her hand again. This time he slid his fingers between hers and they walked more slowly than before.
Because Vanessa could tell she wasn’t the only one. Neither of them wanted to say goodbye. Not for one day.
Not now. Not ever.
All Ben wanted was to kiss her goodbye.
But he wouldn’t dare think about it. Not unless he knew for sure that she was ready. His plan was straightforward. He would take her to dinner tomorrow night and ask her to be his girlfriend. If she was okay with the timing, then after that there would be no more wondering.
And a year from now, who knew?
They reached his truck at the quiet end of the street, and he slid his bags into the back seat with the others. Then he turned
to her. “I’ll pick you up at your house tomorrow. Five o’clock okay?”
A slight hesitation crossed her face. “Text me. In case I haven’t had time to talk to Sadie.”
“She’s shopping?”
“Yes. At the mall with her friends. She asked me to go.” Vanessa lifted one shoulder. “We keep missing each other.”
“Maybe tonight, then.” He didn’t want to push. But there had to be some way to get past this part. “It’s still true. I can’t
wait to meet her.”
“You’re patient, Ben.” Vanessa took his hand this time. “Thank you.”
He had to get on the road, but not before holding her once more. He eased his arms around her waist, and she slipped hers
around his neck. Like a couple of teenagers slow-dancing in the gym, they stayed that way.
“I can’t wait for tomorrow.” He let himself get lost in her eyes. “Our first date.”
“I was wondering if you’d ask me.” Her eyes shone. “You know, since we were only friends.”
Like gravity, he felt himself being pulled to her.
But just when they might’ve shared their first kiss, a sidewalk Santa walked by, ringing the loudest bell Ben had ever heard.
Over the sound he motioned his thumb at the guy.
“I know that bell.” Ben had to practically yell over the sound. “Eighteen twelve.”
“That right?” Vanessa raised her voice, too. They both laughed.
“Merry Christmas, folks!” The Santa waved at them. “Merry Christmas!”
The moment broken, Ben stepped back. He kissed Vanessa’s forehead and climbed into his truck. “I’ll text you when I get back
to town.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Sadie tonight.”
In response Ben only smiled. He started his truck, waved once more, and drove away. The minute he hit the highway, he did
something he’d been doing a lot of lately.
Counting the minutes until he could see Vanessa again.
Sadie watched the man’s truck drive away, and then she saw her mom get into her car and head the other direction. Sadie dropped
to the sill of the store’s front window and covered her face with her hands.
What had she just witnessed? She tried to draw a full breath, but she couldn’t. Her heart was in her throat and her lungs
felt too tight. The images played in her mind again and made her dizzy.
She had been looking at a purse near the front window when the same couple walked by, the one Cami had seen earlier. Only
this time Cami and Ella were trying on jeans at the back of the store.
The windows must’ve been tinted because the couple didn’t see Sadie.
Good thing. As soon as they came into view, Sadie gasped.
“What in the world . . . ?” Her words had been a whisper, an attempt to catch her breath.
Sadie had frozen in place. She could do nothing but watch because Cami had been right.
Chestnut ponytail bouncing behind her, the woman walking hand in hand with some guy was indeed her mother. And the man . . .
Sadie had no idea who he was. But they were holding hands like they were the only two people in the world. Sadie hadn’t ever
seen her mom look so happy—or at least not in four years.
They reached his truck and they hugged. For a long time. It looked like they might kiss, but one of those bell-ringing Santas
seemed to interrupt the moment. And then the guy got in his truck and drove off.
So what was this? Sadie leaned on the window frame so she wouldn’t pass out. Her mom was dating someone? All this time? Without
telling her?
In a rush Sadie remembered her mom’s question the other day. What if she wanted to see someone? Could it maybe be time? And Sadie had refused to talk about it.
That wasn’t her mother’s fault—it was hers.
Sadie stood and gathered herself. She pushed her feelings aside. Her friends would wonder what was wrong if Sadie didn’t act
normal, and she wasn’t about to tell them what she’d just witnessed. Not until she talked things out with her mom.
Which was what she should have done the other night, no matter how shocked or hurt Sadie was by the idea. Because clearly it wasn’t a matter of whether it was time for her mom to date again.
Rather, the question was, who was she dating?
And how could she so quickly forget about Dad?