Page 10 of A Box of Wishes
“If I’d been in a church,” Ben told Morris, “I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.” Then he froze, surprised by his train of thought. He wasn’t a churchgoer, but the brief scene he’d witnessed in the coffeehouse had made him think of faith. “The woman was asking for help and Ryan was… a conduit. A man with a direct line to a higher power.”
Morris grew restless on his lap, and Ben picked him up and cuddled him. “I know it sounds silly, big boy. I won’t mention it to Tarbert just yet. Not until I know a lot more.”
Knowing that he had a reason to hang out in Ryan’s coffeehouse, that his boss had ordered him to get acquainted with Ryan O’Shaughnessy… that sent him to sleep with a smile on his face.
Ryan was rolling out croissant dough when his phone rang. “Answer call,” he said.
“Ryan! Cara just told me you were burgled. Why didn’t you call us? What did they steal? Did they take the box?”
“No, Ma. They took nothing. Not my recipes, not the change, not the box.”
“Then what did they want? And why didn’t you ring?”
Ryan rolled his eyes. He loved his ma, of course he did, but her intensity could be hard to take. Especially when she got an idea in her head and didn’t listen to anything he said. “I’ve no idea what they wanted. They wrecked the back door, kicked in the door to my office, smashed the furniture, and tossed my paperwork. I’m going to have a hell of a time filing it all again.”
“That is a tiny annoyance, Ryan, a trifle compared to losing the box. Maybe… Maybe you shouldn’t leave it out in view.”
And there they went. “Ma, we’ve talked about this.” Ryan wanted to run his hands through his hair. He stopped himself just in time. “It’s not my choice. And locking the box away at this time of year isn’t a good idea. We’re all as busy as.” He heard his mother’s sigh as if she stood beside him. “Alastair is home,” he said to distract her. “He wandered in while the carpenter was fixing the back door.”
“How is he?”
“Jetlagged. Tired. A little… off.” Ryan dusted flour over the dough before he flipped it, folded it into thirds, and started rolling again.
Alastair’s aura had held more grey than green. He’d also evaded Ryan’s questions. Gone was the cousin who shared his passions with all and sundry, and Ryan most of all. Alastair no longer raved about spices, or enthused about his travels, and the quiet contentment that had drawn Ryan into his orbit had all but disappeared.
“Maybe all the travelling is getting to him,” Ryan said, not believing it.
“Maybe he needs to fall in love.”
“Ma. Just because he’s a bit down doesn’t mean he needs to fall in love.”
“No, of course not. But he’s not been the same since he split up with that boy. Troy, was it?”
“That was six years ago. He was fine until… I don’t know…. last spring? And I’m not sure he and Troy ever broke up. They graduated and drifted apart. That happens.”
“Not to someone as single-minded as our Alastair,” his mother disagreed.
Ryan kept working his dough. He’d met Troy twice while Alastair had been at uni and he remembered little of the two of them together. “I don’t know, Ma.”
“Me neither. How about you? Have you made a wish yet?”
“No, Ma.”
“Ryan…”
“Don’t, please. I’ll know when it’s time for me to make a wish.”
“I don’t like it. You hurt yourself for strangers. You should be happy, too.”
Ryan didn’t bother to correct her. She never heard him, anyway. “I am happy, Ma. You know I am.”
“No, I don’t. I know you love your coffeehouse. I know you love to help whether someone’s hungry or in pain. But you’re always alone, Ryan.”
“I spend my days surrounded by people. I couldn’t be lonely if I tried.” He thought of Ben Hobart, who’d visited the coffeehouse at various points during the day, as he’d promised. Now there was a man who was lonely and didn’t deserve it.
Ryan looked forward to Ben’s visits, to serving him tea and cakes, and to see a little of the hurt melt from his eyes. Ben’s aura was brighter than it had been the first time he’d stepped into Ryan’s coffeehouse, a gorgeous slate-blue that reminded Ryan of his favourite scarf.
“I’ll be fine, Ma,” he said. “The police are keeping an eye on the coffeehouse.”
