Page 28 of A Box of Wishes
Ryan beamed and Ben smiled back, glad to be exactly where he was.
To his relief, there was no need for Ryan to dive behind the bar in search of squares of coloured paper. He couldn’t forget his fear for Morris and it had given him an idea of the level of despair that triggered the box. He didn’t wish that on anyone, especially not on this day, when anyone who needed help would have to brave a crowd of cheerful people.
Knowing he had other, much less unbelievable, avenues to explore left Ben content to wait a year for another magical demonstration. Instead, he spent the day talking more than he’d talked in months, cuddling Morris, and sharing glances with Ryan. It was sweet and sappy, and all kinds of perfect.
When the party thinned out, Ben found Ryan, and they escaped from the cheerful uproar into the dark courtyard where the white tree with its single red bauble glowed and glittered.
Ben poked the bauble with a fingertip and watched it swing back and forth. “The first time I saw this, I wondered if it was a signal.”
“I knew you were a clever man.”
“You mean itisa signal?”
“Of course. It’s our way to say that everyone is welcome, whether you’re like everyone else or one of a kind, whether you’re in a crowd or on your own. That’s what hospitality is all about. We always make room for one more. Or two.”
Ben swallowed past the lump in his throat. He reached for Ryan and smiled when Ryan leaned against him with a deep sigh. “Tired?”
“You said it. I could happily sleep standing here.”
“Recovering from exposure isn’t pleasant. And if you fall asleep right now, you’d miss… this.” He didn’t give Ryan a chance to ask. He wrapped his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, drew him close, and kissed him.
Ryan’s lips were dry, and a little rough, but he leaned into Ben’s hold and kissed him back, sharing the taste of cinnamon and custard, and the elusive flavour of Earl Grey tea.
It was the most perfect end to a perfect day.
Ben hadn’t forgotten that they stood in front of a lit Christmas tree, that anyone who cared to peer out into the courtyard could see them, wrapped around each other.
He didn’t mind.
He wanted to show the people who were important to Ryan that Ryan was important to him. Even after having known him for only a few short weeks.
“What did you wish for?” Ben asked before he could stop himself. Because during the afternoon, while listening to people talk, he’d remembered that on the morning he’d begged for Morris’s life, Ryan had also placed a square of paper into the Box of Wishes. But Ryan hadn’t been in pain, or worried… not as far as Ben had been aware.
The expression in Ryan’s eyes told of a different pain, and the deep blush that covered Ryan’s face gave Ben a clue. He wished he’d kept his trap shut and not ruined the moment. “Don’t tell me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I asked you.”
“It’s not a competition. I was just going to test a theory, and that can wait.”
Ryan shook his head. “It can’t wait. Because you look as if you’re going to grab Morris and run.” He held out a hand and Ben took it, let Ryan pull him close. “I don’t want you to run. I want to get to know you better. You and Morris, both. I want to see the sadness fade from your eyes.”
Ben’s breath stuttered. He thought of his home, of how he’d never even tried to fill the gaps left by Keith’s departure. How he’d wallowed in his misery. He didn’t deserve the man beside him. But he’d try to make it work.
By unspoken accord, their lips met once more. And this kiss was… different. Still soft, still sweet, but with a slow burn that took Ben’s breath away and made his knees wobble. It was a promise he had no trouble returning.
“Now,” he said as they drew apart. “About this date you’ve promised me…”
Plans
“Come on up,” Alastair’s voice came through the intercom before Ryan had had time to announce himself. The lock clicked a moment later.
Ryan took the stairs, one bulging bag over his shoulder, the other cradled in his arms. His da had texted him, late the previous night, to let him know Alastair was fine.
Ryan hadn’t believed it.
His parents, excellent though they were, didn’t know Alastair as he did. They hadn’t noticed how much Alastair had changed over the last year. They still saw the old Alastair, who travelled the world and worked himself to exhaustion to forget what bothered him. The one who played the clown and told stories to shield himself from scrutiny. The one who, despite all the fronting and deflecting, wouldn’t have lied to Ryan.
If Ryan had to guess, he’d say that his cousin had spent Christmas Day hiding in a bottle.
