Page 18 of A Box of Wishes
“Fine.”
“Gone eight was what I meant to say.”
“So what? I can get all your stuff assembled tonight. You can bet on it.”
Ryan didn’t want to bet. He wanted to sit and chat with Ben.
It wouldn’t happen. Ben was fidgeting. Alastair did that when he was trying to avoid a tough conversation. Ben was more likely fighting his worries, and Ryan didn’t want to watch him go down that road. “I’ll take that bet. You wave a screwdriver. I restock my freezer and supply you with tea. Do we have a deal?”
Ben pushed to his feet and turned towards Ryan’s office. “You’re on.”
Three hours later, Ben’s voice floated across the short hallway into the kitchen. “Right, that’s that.” The sound of the last drawer in his new filing cabinet sliding home reached Ryan a second after Ben’s announcement. Then the man himself appeared, smiling widely. “See? I said it would get done tonight.”
Ryan pointed at the clock. “With almost an hour to spare. Not that I’m not impressed, but you should have stopped ages ago.”
“Don’t make it sound as if I’ve worked non-stop. I didn’t rush your pizza.”
“I thought it found favour.”
“Best pizza ever. If you grow bored running a coffeehouse, you can open a pizza joint. You’ll have people queueing around the block.”
“Thank you. Maybe when someone invents a forty-eight-hour day.” Ryan rarely made pizza—his regular customers preferred toasties and panini—but tonight it had seemed the sensible thing to do. “Can I see it?”
Ben turned his head, hiding the blush in his cheeks. “It’s your office. I warn you, though. It’s still a mess.”
“It can’t be as bad as it was before you got to work.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
Ryan followed him across the hall. Ben hadn’t just assembled the new furniture, he’d taken apart the old, damaged pieces, too. They leaned against the wall, testament to the break-in.
“Wish we could toss them out. But you’ll need them until your insurance company settles the claim.”
“We can park all the stuff in the smoking shed at my da’s restaurant.”
“What if people want to smoke?”
“Not that kind of smoking shed. My da smokes his own food. Fish, mostly. Sometimes ham and sausage.”
“And the shed stands empty in the winter?”
“Yes. He’s too busy to smoke at this time of year.”
“Right. If we load all this furniture in the back of my jeep, we can take it to your dad’s place when you have time. Keeps it out of your way.”
“You don’t have to—” Ryan felt heat creeping up his neck and cheeks. “No. Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. You’re not making me feel like an idiot, so I shouldn’t behave like one. Thank you. For all your help. Can I see my office now?”
Sleek beech-veneer filing cabinets had replaced his battered metal ones. Three bookcases lined the shortest wall, and a brand-new desk occupied the centre of the room. “Wow. I have more furniture in here than before, but the place looks so much bigger!”
“Decent storage makes all the difference. It will look even airier once we tidy all this stuff.” Ben waved at the stacks of box files, folders, and loose papers. “Sorry about all the paperwork. I tried to—”
“Ben, stop.” Ryan tugged him around by the arm. “You’ve done me a massive favour. Don’t keep apologising for things that don’t matter.”
“You’ve done me a massive favour, too. I would… I felt so lost this morning. I took Morris to the vet, and then all I could think about was coming here. As if it was important.”
“It was important. You can always come here if you need help. You know that, right?”
They stared at each other, the silence profound.
