Page 40 of A Box of Wishes
“What about the box?”
“What about it?”
“Did you look inside?”
“It’s locked.” Ben flushed. “That’s to say… I didn’t ask Ryan if he’d open it, sir.”
“Maybe you should.” Tarbert stood. “And Ben, you’ve worked straight through the holidays…”
He was going to mention the working time directive or the overtime budget. Ben knew it. He held up his hands. “I have the weekend off, sir.”
“Make sure you take the time. You’ve earned it.” He waved his hand at the stacks of papers on Ben’s desk and the forms on his screen. “Good work, Sergeant.”
When he’d disappeared into his office, Ben blew out a breath. That had gone better than he’d expected. He had a plan his chief approved of and a weekend off.
Sleet, freezing fog, and icy roads kept Ryan’s coffeehouse busy as people took the time to warm up while out and about. The annual post-Christmas diet and fitness craze made no dent in the number of people wishing to eat out, keeping his parents’ restaurant fully booked. The only drawback was the wave of seasonal flu sweeping the town.
Paula was home with a sick child. Ryan’s parents were three staff members short. And too many customers stepped into the coffeehouse haloed by muddy green and bilious yellow, telling Ryan that they, too, would soon join the ranks of those coughing and sneezing.
Helping out wherever he was needed took Ryan’s mind off the anxiety that plagued him every time he packed the Box of Wishes away, when he ended his annual stint offering help to those who needed it. He fought the gloom with cinnamon and allspice, with freshly ground coffee and cheerful music, and—most of all—with relentless hours of work.
The bell over the door jangled and a couple crossed the room to an empty table. They shed their heavy winter gear, but the weight that bowed their shoulders didn’t lift and the flat grey of failure darkened their auras.
Despair scraped the back of Ryan’s throat, and the burn in his chest was familiar.
It was also wrong.
He’d stored the Box of Wishes on Christmas Day. He shouldn’t feel as if he’d swallowed a hot brick.
Ryan rubbed at his chest with the heel of his hand, trying to dispel the heat and pressure. The discomfort grew, tightened his throat until he struggled to breathe.
Don’t fight it. Just…go with it.
Ryan set out cups and saucers on a tray and added a pot of tea.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said when he set the tray on their table. “We realise you should be closing. We just—”
“It’s not a problem,” Ryan soothed. “The coffeehouse is open. You’re welcome here. And you’ll be fine if you wish it.”
He didn’t offer a square of coloured paper, nor did he expand on his oblique answer. But the little he’d done seemed to have been enough. The burn in his chest eased and exhaustion took its place, adding to the vague ache in his muscles that had bothered him all day.
Ryan tidied the bar, stacked the crockery, and sorted teaspoons into their bins. The couple drank their tea in silence and left soon after, giving him grateful smiles that held a touch of hope. Morris came to join him, and then Ben was there, his aura blazing blue and beautiful, the sight cheering Ryan like nothing else had done all day.
“I missed you,” he said, once he’d locked the front door and turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “It’s been a long day.”
Ben cuddled Morris while Ryan made tea, then followed him to the table that had been his since the first morning he’d come to the coffeehouse. “You look all done in.”
“I feel like it.”
“Anything go wrong?”
“No. Just one of these days where you feel you’ve worked a week, and it’s not even lunchtime…”
“Ah.”
Ryan poured tea for them both and waited until Ben had taken his first sip. “What about you?”
“I’m all caught up. Finally. And I have a question.”
