Page 36 of A Box of Wishes
Ryan returned the hug. “So I won’t have to introduce you to Alastair.”
“You’d better. I doubt he’ll remember me.”
“Then come on in.”
Unlike the coffeehouse, which mixed the comfort of dark oak with cheerful colours, Ryan’s living room was light and serene. The soft grey upholstery of his sofa, armchairs, and dining chairs held a hint of purple that returned in the coloured specks of the darker grey carpet. What brought the room to life, and drew Ben’s eyes, were the watercolours, and the tiny, amazingly accurate sketches of plants dotting his walls.
“Ah, yes,” Ryan muttered when he caught Ben’s gaze. “I’m not much use with paperwork, but I do like to draw.”
Ben stepped closer, saw the same care that Ryan took decorating cakes and squaring off sandwiches applied to pencil and brush strokes, rendering results that were accurate and pleasing to the eye.
Ben was grateful he hadn’t turned the car around when he realised Ryan had guests. He pulled his attention from Ryan’s walls, directed it at the fourth member of their party, and wondered what else he could learn during this unexpected afternoon.
Dressed in jeans and a close-fitting rollneck, Ryan’s cousin looked slimmer and rangier than he had in his heavy wool coat. His eyes, when open, were a striking blueish-green, and the strawberry tone in his blond hair was more pronounced in daylight. He’d shaved and smiled a welcome as he stood and held out a hand. “I’m—”
“Alastair Brendan Cedric Donohue. At least, that’s what your driving licence says. Your parents have a sense of humour?”
“How do you know—” Alastair closed his mouth and took a breath. “You’re a detective. And you were working last night.”
“True.”
“Did you arrest me?”
“Not at all. I merely gave you a lift home. Your cousin, equally suffering from jet lag and unable to sleep, came to check on you.”
Alastair fell back into his seat, neither embarrassed nor ashamed by what had happened. He seemed content to accept the ribbing that would no doubt rain down on him in due course. He pushed out the chairs around the table, grabbed hold of Ryan’s sleeve, and pulled him into a seat.
“I thought I’d seen Cara around.” He turned to Ben. “I don’t remember a thing about you. Come sit. Did I make a nuisance of myself?”
“Not at all. I prefer sleepy drunks to belligerent ones, and you’re definitely one of the former.” Ben narrowed his eyes. “You’re remarkably awake for somebody so out of it at midnight. I’d still be hiding in a dark room with a damp cloth over my face.”
“As would most of us,” Ryan told him, finally over his surprise. “He’s the only one who can drink until he passes out and wake up fresh as a daisy.”
Alastair grinned like the cat that had snagged the creamandthe canary. “It’s just not fair, is it?”
A Japanese meal created an astounding quantity of dishware. Ben stacked small bowls, smaller plates, and tiny dishes onto a tray before his third trip to the kitchen. Ryan and Alastair took no note of him, caught up in a discussion about—as far as Ben could tell—cinnamon and essential oils. He’d never met a spice trader before, and didn’t know whether Alastair habitually got lost in his speciality, but seeing Ryan all lit up and excited was a thing of beauty.
Ben lifted the tray and scanned the room for Morris. He found him curled into a corner of Ryan’s sofa, relaxing after his lengthy round of lap-hopping. Cara and Alastair had spoilt Morris, and the tabby had enjoyed the pieces of delicious sashimi as much as Ben.
Keith had hated fish.
And Ben no longer cared.
Accepting Ryan’s dinner invitation and bringing Morris along hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
He set his load of dishes beside Cara before he reached for a dishcloth.
“You don’t need to help.”
“Of course, I do. You wash, I dry. It goes faster that way.” He tilted his head towards the living room. “I couldn’t follow that cinnamon argument beyond the first three sentences.”
“Once Alastair gets going on spices, you won’t get him to stop. He’s always been that way. I caught the food-buying bug from him. I don’t have his nose for spices, so it’s food fairs for me rather than farms in the jungle.”
“And then you make your cousins test your discoveries?”
“You said it.” Cara topped up the hot water in the sink. “Everyone in our family works in hospitality—with Alastair and me the odd ones out. We’re still in the industry, but we’re the least directly involved with feeding the masses.”
“And in exchange,” Ben guessed, “you travel more than the others put together?”
