Page 8 of The Christmas Ring
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 Santahat 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 andthen back to Ben. “As in Millers’ Antiques? Best Christmas heirlooms in the state?”
