Page 51 of A Box of Wishes
His phone lay silent, the message screen blank. Ben texted rarely, was more likely to phone. And Ryan, who was part of a clan who treated telephone conversations as normal interaction, appreciated it. Right now, though, he wished for a simple text.
Ryan had worked late the previous night, restocking his freezers to stop himself from reaching for the phone to call Ben. Going to bed exhausted hadn’t stopped him from dreaming of Ben, but at least he’d woken in time to tidy away his blankets and sleeping bag and make himself presentable before Ben arrived with Morris.
Seeing Ben had cheered Ryan’s heavy heart. His aura matched the deep blue of his eyes, and he’d looked as content as a child on Christmas morning. The first time Ben had sat in the nook, his aura had held more grey than blue. Loneliness had rolled off him in waves, and he’d cradled his tea as if it were his only comfort. The change was staggering, and Ryan could have watched him forever.
“We can’t always have what we want,” Ryan reminded himself. “You know that.”
Morris wriggled out of his arms, but instead of resuming his vigil, he curled up on Ryan’s office chair and washed his paws.
Ryan returned to the kitchen. It was just after eight. The last batch of buns was in the oven, ready to be iced first thing in the morning. If Ben hadn’t turned up by the time Ryan had cleaned up, he’d text him. And then tackle the paperwork while he waited.
Linear plan established, Ryan zipped through his evening tasks. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the back door, bin liner in hand. He tossed it, ready for the next morning’s rubbish collection, and was heading back inside when a man’s brawny arm wrapped around his throat.
A second man appeared in front of him and drove his fist into Ryan’s stomach without uttering a single word.
Ryan gagged. Bile burned the back of his throat and he fought for breath. He threw back an elbow, hit something soft and heard a grunt. The small sound spurred him into kicking and thrashing. He needed to break the stranglehold. Needed to curl into a ball to protect himself. Needed—
“Where is the recipe? Give it over and we’ll leave ye in peace.”
The man holding him yanked him upright, gave him a little air.
“What recipe?” A second punch caught his jaw hard enough to make him see stars and taste blood. “What fucking recipe?” he demanded.
A third punch doubled him over, and he sucked air in a wheezing gasp. Nausea clawed at his gut and if the goon in front of him wasn’t careful, Ryan would throw up all over him. He ran a coffeehouse for Heaven’s sake. And he’d never heard of anyone getting beaten up over recipes for iced buns or gingerbread.
“What fucking recipe? I’ve no idea what you want!”
“Pretending ignorance won’t save you.”
“I have cupboards full of recipe books,” Ryan shouted, temper spilling over. “Which one of the friggin’ things are you after?” Ryan braced himself for another punch when the man holding him in place suddenly jerked and let go, sending Ryan to his knees.
“Police!” Boots thudded on wet asphalt.
The man who’d held him careened into the wheelie bin, bounced off and hit the wall. The second attacker turned to run, stumbled, and keeled over like a felled tree.
Ryan gasped for breath. The cobbles swam in and out of focus. He knew he should get up, put distance between himself and his assailants, but if he moved, he might be sick.
“Ryan! Ryan, talk to me.”
Ryan staggered to his feet, found Ben standing like an avenging angel over Ryan’s two assailants. He held a club… a baton?… and looked ready to inflict more damage.
“Ryan. Talk to me.” He held out a hand.
Ryan gripped it, surprised by how wobbly he felt. “I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
“He only hit me a few times.” The taste of blood was stronger now, and Ryan ran his tongue over his teeth, checking. Nothing seemed to be loose.
“Your lip is split and bleeding.” Ben touched Ryan’s chin, and Ryan winced when the light hit his eyes. “Go inside. Put some ice on that cheek. We need to get you checked for a concussion.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be with you in a minute. Just going to take care of these two.”
“Do you need a hand? You can’t let them lie out here in the cold.”
Ben muttered something Ryan didn’t catch before he bent and zip-tied both men’s hands behind their backs. Then he had his phone to his ear, calling in the assault.
