Page 43 of A Box of Wishes
“Not that sort of weird. I was wondering if you could check on Ryan?”
“Check on Ryan? He’s working in your parents’ restaurant this weekend, right?” Doubt stirred and he squashed it, waiting for Cara’s answer.
“He was supposed to, yes, but he’s down with the flu as well.”
“‘As well’?”
“Alastair has it, and half of our O’Shaughnessy cousins. Plus three of my parents’ staff. I’m sorry to bother you, Ben. But I’m flying out early Monday and still need to pick up samples for my next job and check on Alastair before I head to the restaurant.”
“It’s fine. I’ll go over. Is there anything he needs?”
“I don’t know.” Cara’s frustrated sigh carried over the noise of the shopping crowd. “I’ve not spoken to him. He texted me that he’s down with the flu and staying in bed. And now he’s not answering his phone. I have no idea what he needs, or what he has in his cupboards, or—”
“Breathe,” Ben told her. “You have enough on your plate. Don’t worry about Ryan. I’ll check on him and let you know how he is.”
“He keeps a spare key in the flowerpot to the left side of his front door.”
“That’s good to know. I don’t want to break the door down. Or drag him out of bed.”
Cara ignored Ben’s tasteful innuendo. “Thank you, Ben. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Ben shoved the phone into his pocket and revised his shopping list. Ginger, lemons, and grapes went into his basket before he added a bunch of coriander, chillies, and a pack of chicken pieces—ingredients for hot and sour soup, his favourite remedy when a cold laid him low.
Between his regular groceries, food for Ryan, and a stack of cold medicine, his basket bulged by the time he was done. Ben didn’t mind. Ryan’s repeated refusals to go on a date with him had soured his mood, but Cara’s call had helped him put the disappointment into perspective. If Ryan was too ill to help his parents, he wouldn’t have been up for an evening out.
Ben hoped it had been as simple as that and they could revisit the topic when Ryan felt better.
Ben found the key to Ryan’s front door in the flowerpot and let himself in. Apart from a stack of unopened mail on the shoe cupboard, the hallway and kitchen appeared as neat as Ryan’s cafe. The living room was less tidy, with three half-empty mugs and a water glass on the coffee table next to Ryan’s phone. A rumpled blanket draped one end of the sofa, and the cushions had migrated to the floor as if Ryan hadn’t been comfortable using them to support his head.
Ryan was curled up in bed, so deeply asleep he hadn’t heard Ben come in. The quilt wrapped around him, but beneath it, Ryan wore clothes. And the hoodie, jogging bottoms, and thick socks did little to stop his shivers.
The layers of clothes and the beads of sweat on Ryan’s upper lip and forehead spoke of chills and fever. Ben returned to the living room to fetch the blanket from the couch and Ryan snuggled deeper into the bed under the extra layer of warmth. He didn’t wake, and Ben closed the bedroom door behind himself.
Cara answered on the second ring. “How is he?”
“Asleep. And yes, he’s down with a fever. I’ll see how he feels when he wakes, but I can’t imagine him working like this. How’s Alastair?”
“Coughing up a lung. And also feverish.”
“Give him aspirin or paracetamol if he has any.”
“Is that what you’re doing for Ryan?”
“When he wakes. I’ve bought some Night Nurse, too, though he seems to sleep just fine without it.”
“I’m getting Benilyn for Alastair. Is there anything you need?”
“I’m set. You take care of yourself.”
He put the phone down and saw about unpacking the food, glad the pots and utensils he needed to make soup were easy to find. It felt strange to stand in the kitchen chopping ingredients and stirring dinner without Morris twining around his feet, even as it helped him to remember where he was. He pulled up an audiobook and listened to theTales of Max Carradosuntil the creak of Ryan’s bedroom door brought him back to awareness.
And then Ryan stood in the kitchen, looking lost and rumpled, squinting from puffy eyes. “Ben?”
“Live and in colour. You’re not hallucinating, don’t worry. Cara asked me to check on you.” He crossed the kitchen and touched the back of his hand to Ryan’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating off him.
Ryan leaned back. “Don’t come closer. I don’t want to give it to you.”
“I’ve had my jab. And most germs bounce right off me.” Ben went back to stirring his soup. “I’m more likely to catch a cold in July or August. Summer germs are evil.”
