Page 1 of A Box of Wishes
Break In
Ryan O’Shaughnessy, baker, barista and owner of the Top o’ the Morning coffeehouse, pulled his bike to a stop in Rothcote High Street as the church clock struck five. He switched off the engine and pushed the machine through the arched gateway into the courtyard. Shop fronts and windows lay in darkness, with the Christmas tree in the centre of the square the only illumination.
Ryan parked the Kawasaki in its usual spot and fished for his keys.
He loved the dark winter mornings when hoarfrost mantled the trees, loved the strings of golden lights that draped the spreading beeches along the High Street and gave the town centre an otherworldly feel.
When he reached the back entrance of the coffeehouse, his good mood vanished.
The security light lay in shards on the doorstep, and the door hung in the frame, half-wrenched from its hinges.
Ryan itched to rush in and take out his ire on whoever had violated his space.
Caution made him hesitate.
He didn’t know who had broken into his business. Or if they waited for him inside. Helmet in hand, he stood in the frigid silence and listened.
No sound.
He pushed the door wider and flipped the light switch, then took a careful step through the door.
The kitchen was undisturbed, as tidy as he’d left it the previous night. The same wasn’t true for his office. A kick had splintered the wood around the door’s lock and the handle was gone, torn from its fittings. Ryan braced for destruction.
He found it inside.
Overturned filing cabinets, their contents in drifts on the carpet. Every drawer on his desk wrenched open and emptied over desktop and floor. The damage was wanton and pointless because the intruders hadn’t touched the watercolour painting covering his safe.
Sweat dewed on Ryan’s neck. Not money. Not his recipes.
“The box! Damn it!”
He dropped his helmet and sprinted for the bar. The metal-bound wooden box with its cloverleaf-shaped padlock sat beside the cash register, undisturbed.
Ryan exhaled in a huff, relief making his knees wobble and his hands shake. He ran a coffeehouse, not a drinking den. In the four years since opening Top o’ the Morning, he’d never once had trouble. Break-ins and vandalism didn’t fit into his worldview.
He slid his palm over smooth wood and chilled metal, assuring himself that nothing had harmed the Box of Wishes. And before he could change his mind, he reached for his phone and called the police.
The wet rasp of a rough tongue across his nose and cheek jerked Ben awake. “Morris! Leave off.” He pushed the cat’s face away, grabbed the big fur ball and sat up, cradling the tabby to his chest. “Shit.”
Ben had tossed and turned for half the night. The last time he’d glanced at the clock, the green numerals had read 03:47. He must have dozed off after that and snoozed right past his wake-up call.
“Without you, I’d get the sack,” he told his purring companion.
Morris didn’t argue. He nudged his nose under Ben’s chin, urging him to do more than talk.
Ben took the hint.
He climbed out of bed, wincing as his bare feet touched the chilly wooden floor. Keith had taken half the furniture when he’d moved out, including the sheepskin rugs they’d brought back from a holiday in Yorkshire.
Ben was grateful that Morris had always been ‘his’ cat. The idea of coming home to an empty house at the end of each day didn’t appeal to him at all. He cuddled Morris closer and buried his face in the soft fur as he made for the kitchen. “I wouldn’t have let him take you. I like you too much to be without you, big boy.”
Ben set the cat on his feet and opened the cupboard where he kept the cat food. “What do you fancy for breakfast this morning? Nice tuna or a bit of dead cow?”
Morris settled beside his mat. If Ben dawdled any longer, he’d stand up on his hind legs and wave a paw. Ben loved the manoeuvre, and—in need of something to cheer him—he opened the food packet, emptied the contents into Morris’s bowl, and waited.
As if he knew what Ben expected, Morris rested one front paw on the cupboard door and stretched the other in a high five, mewing his request for breakfast.
“Aren’t you lovely?” Ben stroked the striped head and the tiny button nose before he set the plate on the mat. “See? Nice Morris breakfast. Right on time.”
