Page 8 of A Box of Wishes
“You can’t keep feeding me. You’ve already made me breakfast, and the sandwiches at lunchtime were delicious.”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s time for afternoon tea. Go find a seat.”
“Let me at least take the tray.” Ben headed towards the nook, leaving Ryan to wonder why his gift wasn’t reacting to the detective. If anyone needed help, it was this man who stood straight and proud, but whose eyes and aura told a different story. Ryan wanted to take Ben home. Feed him, look after him, and help him replenish the energy he spent each day helping others.
The urge was insane, given that he didn’t know the first thing about Ben Hobart. He couldn’t say whether the detective was kind or mean, warm-hearted or cold, whether he took pride in his work or just counted the hours.
Ben was a virtual stranger and yet… Ryan recognised a kindred spirit, and it made him reach for a tea he reserved for special occasions. One that grew in a tiny corner of Ireland. It was a gorgeous tea: pale gold, with a delicate, floral aroma that blew Ryan away every time he brewed a pot. And having seen the care Ben had taken over his tea that morning, Ryan was sure he’d enjoy this one.
“Aren’t you meant to be closing at three?” Ben asked when Ryan arrived with the teapot. “The sign on the door says so.”
“It does. But I’m here, so why should I deny someone a cup of something warm?”
“Fair enough.” Ben poured the tea and when he inhaled the steam, his eyes popped open wide. “Wow! That’s a new one.” He took a tiny sip and let it linger on his tongue. “Cornwall?”
Ryan shook his head. “Ireland.”
“Nice. Very nice.” He spied the cup in Ryan’s hand and held out the pot. “You’re joining me?”
“If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I’d imagine you have questions.”
“Maybe.” Ryan drank his tea while Ben inhaled the panini and enjoyed his banoffee pie. He worked in a coffeehouse all day, but as he sat opposite Ben, watched the lights twinkle on the Christmas tree, and listened to the music, it occurred to him that he rarely shared a cup or a cake with anyone. And today he’d done it twice.
“You make the best cakes.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” The bell over the door jangled and heat flared in Ryan’s chest. Sudden as a match set to petrol, and about as fierce. Ryan swallowed his gasp and pushed to his feet. “Excuse me.” He slid out of the booth before Ben could reply.
The elderly lady at the bar wasn’t a regular. She wore a cashmere coat with the buttons done up all askew and a pricey scarf twisted into a shapeless string. Signs, if Ryan had needed them, of her distress. Despite that, she offered him a tremulous smile.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, in the most refined accent he’d ever heard. “It’s past your closing time, I know. But I—” She took a deep breath and stared at the box beside the cash register. “I need help.”
Ryan clutched the edge of the counter as the fire in his chest grew fiercer. He considered the woman’s red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands while his other sight showed him her aura, pulsing and juddering through colour after colour. Bone-deep fear, no doubt about it. He reached into the cubbyhole under the bar, and pulled out a pale lavender square of paper. “Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll bring you a cup of tea. And a pen.”
She took the chair closest to the Box of Wishes, and reached for the pen and paper before she ever touched her tea. Ryan watched her write a few words, then fold the square and drop it into the box. Her lips moved without sound in a wish or a prayer, and Ryan added a thank-you of his own.
The woman returned to her seat and picked up her teacup. Fear still darkened her eyes, but her hands were steadier now, her breathing less hurried, and the colours around her had slowed their crazy whirl.
Ryan resisted the urge to comfort and reassure her. Once past the emergency that brought them to his coffeehouse, most of his customers returned to valuing common sense above all other considerations. The woman might feel embarrassed she’d sought his help. Or angry. He’d been faced with both and had learned to leave well enough alone. The emergency was over. Any comfort and reassurance he sought now was for himself.
A wave of lethargy followed the pain, and Ryan braced himself before his shoulders sagged so much that Ben noticed.
Ben.
The cop hadn’t moved from his place in the nook, and his steady regard brought the comfort Ryan had wished for moments earlier. He settled back on the bench and picked up his teacup. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologise. You’re running a business. You look after your customers. That’s how it works, isn’t it?”
“Most of the time, yes.” Ryan’s inner sight claimed his attention. Had the grey hue surrounding Ben grown a few shades lighter, or was he imagining it? Shame he couldn’t simply ask.
“Are you okay? You look a little…”
“Peaky? Long day.”
