Page 11 of A Box of Wishes
“The police? Or one particular officer?”
“Ma!” Ryan stared at the phone. “I know you don’t have second sight. Who snitched on me?”
“It’s true?”
Ryan sighed, knowing she’d prod until he answered. “The detective who responded to my call lives in the next village. He stops by on his way to and from work.”
“And you like him?” His mother’s voice rose at the end of the sentence, though Ryan knew it wasn’t a question.
“I’ve barely met him.”
“And?”
“He’s cute. And sad.”
“Of course, he is. Did the box recognise him?”
“No. So while he looks sad, he doesn’t need my help to change that.” The words sounded clipped, almost bitter, and Ryan checked himself. “Sorry, Ma. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Don’t apologise, Ryan. Of course you meant it. And, of course, you’re right. I shouldn’t push. I just wish…”
She hung up without saying goodbye, and Ryan hoped she’d forget about it rather than call back to apologise. Apologies changed nothing. They never had.
He’d always been the one in their vast family who saw the world differently. His ability hadn’t brought him joy or earned him gratitude and it had taken him a long time to realise that most people were content with their misery. That they didn’t want his help to fix their problems.
Ryan had faced outrage, anger, and fists until he’d learned that people felt better if they fixed their problems themselves. Maybe Ben Hobart’s frequent visits, the smiles that grew more successful every time he stepped through the door, showed he was doing just that.
Offers
The aromas of coffee and vanilla drifted into the courtyard on waves of laughter and cheerful music, advertising the season of comfort and joy. Ben pushed back the hood of his coat and stepped into the scented warmth. The bell over the door announced his arrival, and Ryan’s smile—luminous with delight—welcomed him. But it was the fact a bright, cheerful‘Sorry, this table is reserved’sign had kept the space in the nook for him, when there wasn’t a single free chair or barstool in the coffeehouse, that sent heat into Ben’s cheeks and butterflies into his stomach.
A week after the break-in, Ryan still smiled when Ben turned up. It didn’t seem to matter that he had neither suspects nor promising leads for the attack on Ryan’s business. As promised, Ben stopped by the coffeehouse at least twice a day. And Ryan would sit with him for a few minutes each time, and they’d talk.
He’d learned much about the Irishman in those conversations.
He knew Ryan’s parents owned a restaurant, his sister was a buyer for a chain of delicatessens, and his favourite cousin travelled the world buying spices. Ryan’s uncle ran a pub, and Ryan had other cousins who owned and managed a hotel. Looking after people was a family trait, and Ben had given up arguing, or even feeling awkward, when Ryan brought him not just tea, but sandwiches, croissants, or cakes.
This afternoon, a capacity crowd filled the coffeehouse. Ben was sure that Ryan would have no time for more than a brief greeting. He was wrong. The teapot arrived, along with a grilled beef and cheese sandwich and a plate of shortbread. And Ryan joined him a short while later.
“It’s as busy as I’ve seen it,” Ben said when Ryan had taken his first sip of tea.
“Christmas party time. Love it or hate it.”
“Which is it for you?”
“I like the buzz.”
Ben’s gaze homed in on the shadows under Ryan’s eyes. “How long did you work last night?”
“Honestly? No idea. I kept baking until I couldn’t tell flour from powdered sugar, and then I crashed in the break room.”
Ben frowned. He understood dedication to a job and working long hours. But this… this was… “Do you do that a lot? Work all night? Not go home?”
“Not often, no.” Ryan sagged a little. “And I didn’t mean to whine.”
“You’re not whining. I asked. So, please, tell me?” He poured more tea into Ryan’s cup and pushed it closer to his hand.
“Thank you. And before you put your worry-face on… I rarely work through the night. I’ve done it once or twice when we were catering a big wedding or charity event, but most times, a couple of hours extra will cover it.”
