Page 50 of A Box of Wishes
Ben paused his audiobook when he realised he was thinking about the case instead of listening to the story. Theorising ahead of his data. The shame of it.
“Checking through surveillance footage bores everyone to death eventually,” he said as he shifted a sleeping Morris off his lap.
His stomach had been telling him for the last twenty minutes that he needed a break, and Ben decided he deserved a beer with his pizza. He popped the top on the bottle, and while the pizza baked, he noted down questions he wanted to ask the next morning. When he saw Ryan again.
Ben reached for the cup of tea. He added a drop of milk before he raised the cup to his face and inhaled the fragrant steam. “Lady Grey,” he said. “Are you making it easy for me because it’s Monday?”
Ryan watched him, and Ben wanted to ask what he saw. He’d not quite understood Ryan’s explanation of auras and colours. But then Ryan smiled and Ben’s questions became much less important. “I was thinking of making you a pot of the Earl, but you seem in need of something with a bit more zing.”
Ben lowered his face over the cup again. His eyes still felt as if they’d been sandpapered, but the steam coming off his tea was soothing. He’d found nothing in the hours of footage that could exonerate Ryan from the suspicion of being a drug dealer. Police work was a slog and could sap your resolve, but the hints of orange and lemon in his tea lifted his spirits. Set him up for trying again. “Thank you,” he said, not looking up. “I spent too much time in front of a computer this weekend.”
Ryan didn’t ask. He sipped from his own cup, watched Morris explore, and let Ben enjoy his first cup of tea. Ben couldn’t imagine not coming here every morning for this tiny slice of bliss.
“I have some more questions—”
A loud buzzing interrupted the peace of the coffeehouse.
His phone.
Ben wrestled the thing from his pocket. “Hobart.”
“Major incident,” the dispatcher said. “We need you at the station.”
Ben’s spine snapped straight. “I’ll be there in ten.” He threw a longing glance at his chicken pesto panini before he grabbed it and took a huge bite. “I need to go,” he said around a mouthful of food.
“I can see that.” Ryan was already on the move, heading for the bar and the trays of sandwiches and muffins. “I’ll fix you a bag.”
“Ryan, you don’t need to—”
“I know I don’t. But you’re going to give yourself indigestion by inhaling your breakfast like this. And who knows when you’ll get lunch? You haven’t even had time to drink your tea.” Ryan filled a travel mug with spiced tea, brewed strong enough to keep its flavour even if it cooled, and added milk and sugar. “One for the road.” He smiled as Ben took it, then held out a paper bag with sandwiches and muffins. “Be safe.”
Ben hesitated, caught between conflicting desires. Needing to go. Wanting to stay. Wanting to say… He touched Ryan’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Thank you for all of this. I wish I could stay here with you.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I… Ryan, I don’t know what they need me for. I could be late back.”
Ryan caught Ben’s hand. He turned his head and brushed his lips over the knuckles. “Go do your job. And don’t worry about Morris. He’s safe with me until you get home.”
“He hasn’t forgotten you,” Ryan said many hours later as he wiped down the big steel table where he did his baking. Morris had been pacing from the entrance of the coffeehouse to the kitchen for the last half hour and nothing could distract him from his vigil.
He’d leave the kitchen on stiff legs, pass through the hallway into the main room of the coffeehouse, and walk the length of the bar to the door. He’d sit there, staring out through the glass into the empty courtyard that was lit by little more than moonlight now the large Christmas tree was gone. At some invisible signal, he rose and retraced his steps until he stood beside Ryan in the kitchen, meowing his displeasure.
It was beyond cute.
“He told us this morning that he might be late. And Ben not being here doesn’t mean you’ve gone without food or cuddles, now has it? Don’t you dare tell him it has.”
Morris blinked big, green eyes at him, his little face one of such misery that Ryan interrupted his cleaning, bent, and gathered the cat to his chest.
“He’s fine,” he cooed, scratching behind Morris’s ears.
Then he stopped.
He didn’t know if Ben was fine.
Ben was a police officer. He could walk into a dangerous situation at any point, and Ryan couldn’t ever say with conviction that Ben was fine unless he had the man in his sight. It wasn’t a comfortable thought.
Morris head-butted his chin. An admonishment to Ryan to keep stroking him. Ryan did so while he headed to his office to check if Ben had left him a message.
