Page 46 of A Box of Wishes
Ryan re-read the letter, but its content hadn’t changed. He had three weeks—less than three weeks, since the letter was dated Friday—to find a new place to live and to move house. All while he had two staff members out sick, had promised to help his parents—also plagued with staff sickness—at the weekends, and owed Ben at least a night out.
When would he find time to go house-hunting?
Was it even possible to get a rental agreement in place in under three weeks? There were ID checks, and credit checks, and references, and God knew what else he had to provide to prove to a prospective landlord that he wouldn’t trash the place and pay his rent on time.
Couldn’t his landlord have allowed him a little more breathing room? Shouldn’t he have given him at least four weeks’ notice?
Ryan didn’t panic easily. When he ran Fate’s errands, he saw people who were desperate or at their wits’ end. And he stayed calm and did his best to help.
He didn’t feel calm right then.
He was shaking and sweating, with the leftovers of his cold or reaction to the contents of the letter.
Ryan had meant to check on Alastair, but he couldn’t face any more drama that evening. He pulled the bottle of Redbreast from the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard, poured himself a healthy slug and downed it in one.
Then he turned out all the lights, crawled into bed fully dressed and curled into a ball. If he hid here for a while, maybe the madness would stop.
Secrets
Ben was the first customer through the door of the coffeehouse that Monday, and he took full advantage of the momentary privacy. He let Morris out of his carrier, then reached for Ryan, and pulled him into a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“I could have slept longer, but I’m here.”
“I may have to come around at three to make sure you’re closing.”
“You would, too.” There was an odd note in Ryan’s voice.
“You wouldn’t want me to?”
“Ben, I had a cold. I’m hardly a delicate flower.”
“You’re not, I know. You’re just very good at taking care of everyone except yourself—or so your parents tell me.”
“Traitors.” Ryan reached for a tray. “Looking after people makes me happy. It makes my parents happy, too, and we all want to do the best job we can.”
Ben took the tea tray from Ryan’s hands before he could bang it on the bar to make his point. “I met your parents, and yes, you are peas in a pod. I’m not complaining. Just looking out for you. You can’t meet everyone’s sugar and caffeine needs if you’re in bed with pneumonia.”
“Meoooow!” Morris had never made himself heard at such a volume. He stood on his hind legs with his front paws resting against the side of the bar.
“Someone’s feeling left out.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t like raised voices.” Ryan’s smile was back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“You were hardly yelling.”
“Not to your ears, perhaps, but Morris has cat ears.” Ryan scooped the cat into his arms. “Were we too loud for you? Is it time for your breakfast?”
“Second breakfast,” Ben said, but he couldn’t hold back his smile when Ryan collected a small dish with chicken pieces from the bar. Ryan didn’t just accept Ben’s love for Morris without calling him sappy. He was well on the way to spoiling Ben’s furbaby as much as Ben did himself.
Ryan made for the nook, plate in hand, and Morris cradled in the crook of his arm. The cat squirmed and shifted, trying to get his feet on the floor and his face closer to the chicken. Ryan moved with Morris, teasing him, but not letting him go, and Ben’s heart melted. He bit his tongue to hold back the words that tried to get out.
He’d made a promise to value himself more, but he wouldn’t make a fuss if mornings and evenings at the coffeehouse were all Ryan could offer. Not if he got to see Ryan like this.
“Yes, I realise that. Please let me know if anything suitable comes up. Thank you.” None of the twelve rental agents he’d called over the last days had any properties available before the end of January, as if nobody moved house in the first month of the year. His other worry had been just as valid: arranging a rental agreement took more time than he had.
He could speak to his landlord as several of the rental agents had suggested and remind him that the law required him to give two months’ notice. But Ryan didn’t want to argue. Nor did he want to stay where he wasn’t welcome. If the man wanted to sell the building in a hurry, Ryan wouldn’t stop him, even if the law was on his side.
He had too close a connection with fate to curse when his plans went awry, but he wished his emergencies would arrive one at a time. Ben was neither blind nor witless. He’d seen that the aftereffects of his cold left Ryan wishing for his bed. He could tell that Ryan was worried. It was only a matter of time until Ryan would forget himself and tell Ben about his housing troubles.
