Let's open A Box of Wishes

It has been a long time coming, but… I can finally offer you Ben & Ryan’s story all the way to their happy-for-now!

To celebrate, I’d love to share Ben and Ryan’s first meeting with you. Meeting scenes, whether the main characters just catch a glimpse of each other or actually interact, are some of my favourite scenes whether I’m reading or writing. How the characters meet and what they say or hold back is as intriguing in fiction as it is in real life.

In A Box of Wishes, both Ryan and Ben are working when they meet: Ryan, the caretaker with an unusual gift, and Ben, the protector with the softest imaginable heart. They each try to make the other comfortable, and each of them likes what he sees when he looks at the other. 😉

Ben found Top o’ the Morning just off the High Street in a small courtyard that also housed a knitting shop, a store selling fishing rods, a hairdresser, and a furniture arcade. Festive decor brightened each shop window, and a large Christmas tree, decorated in white except for one red bauble, occupied the centre of the square.

Should he celebrate Christmas? He could buy a treat or two for Morris, wrap them, and arrange them under a tree. Or was it pathetic to—

Negative, defeatist thoughts were common after a long night spent near sleepless. Ben acknowledged them, then put them aside. He was here to work. Contemplating Christmas trees could wait.

Golden light spilled from the coffeehouse’s windows along with the enticing scent of freshly baked goods, and Ben’s stomach woke up and roared its displeasure.

Inside, the scent of warm bread twined with the aromas of sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon and made his mouth water. Almost as much as the man behind the counter.

Ben stopped in his tracks. Blinked. Had he just…?

He had.

In his defence, he’d have to be blind to ignore this man.

The barista wore a dark green apron over close-fitting black jeans and a long-sleeved top. He was slight, with warm brown eyes, a mobile mouth, and shoulder-length auburn hair that he’d pulled back into a tight tail. And the mirror running the length of the wall behind the bar showed him to be just as decorative from the back as he was from the front.

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted when Ben reached the bar. “How do you like your caffeine?”

“What?”

The man gestured, lips stretching into a welcoming smile. “You’re up early and barely awake. How do you like your caffeine?”

“You reported a break-in,” Ben said. “I’m DS Hobart, Northamptonshire Police.”

The smile grew a little wider. “I knew you weren’t one of my regulars. Thank you for coming so quickly. Now, before you ask me all your questions, can I offer you breakfast?”

Ben stared longingly at the ham and cheese croissants that must have come out of the oven not long since. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t just skipped breakfast, but dinner, too. First things first, though. “Would you have tea?”

“Of course. Grab a seat. I’ll bring it right over.”

It wasn’t standard procedure for investigating burglaries, but if the owner of the coffeehouse needed to look after people to keep his composure, Ben would let him do so.

He ignored the Christmas trees dripping baubles and ribbon at each end of the long room and sat in the nook beside the unlit fireplace, imagining a roaring fire in the grate and the coffeehouse filled with an afternoon crowd, enjoying scones and jam, Danishes, and cheesecake with their tea.

It was easy to do.

Despite the stainless-steel counter and the high-tech coffee equipment behind it, the room felt warm and inviting. A space to stop in the daily rush and relax for a while.

Ben had spent much time in coffeeshops when he’d first moved to Manchester. Sat at a small table and read, baffled the baristas with requests for speciality teas, watched the other patrons and guessed at the kinds of lives they led.

Then he’d met Keith and his coffee shop outings had stopped.

Now he lived in a house with half the furnishings missing. With marks on the walls where pictures had told stories, and bookshelves that showed bare patches. He’d done nothing to the house since Keith had left. He’d stayed away from people and buried himself in work and workouts until he even forgot to go shopping for food. His home reeked of loneliness and heartache, with Morris the only bright, welcoming spot in his life. The tabby might go out for hours at a time, but he’d never desert Ben. Morris was loyal. Faithful. The way Keith hadn’t been.

“Here you are.” The barista’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The soft baritone fit with the space, as much as the Christmas lights draping the walls, the trees in the corners, or the wooden tray that held a proper teapot, a cup and saucer, and two plates. A large cheese and ham croissant lay on one, a cherry and white chocolate muffin on the other.

It was what Ben would have chosen if he’d placed an order. “You watched me,” he accused, cheeks burning.

“That’s my job.” The man slid into the seat opposite. “I’m Ryan O’Shaughnessy. I own this joint,” he said, and watched while Ben poured himself a large cup of tea, added a little milk, and raised it to his nose to inhale the fragrant steam.

“You reported a break-in,” Ben began when he’d soothed his empty stomach with the croissant and muffin and had coaxed a third cup of tea from the pot.

“I did.” Ryan’s chin rested on his folded hands. He hadn’t moved while Ben enjoyed his breakfast. “I found the back door forced when I got here at five. My office looks like a tip. And don’t worry, detective. I only peeked in from the doorway. I’ve not touched a thing.”

“You sound calmer than most burglary victims I get to see. Could you tell whether they’ve taken anything?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Like I said, I’ve not checked. Nobody touched the cash register. I’m not sure if they even came in here. All the damage is in my office. They’ve upended my filing cabinets and turned out all the drawers in my desk. I don’t know what they were after. Not money or my recipes, I don’t think.”

“Why not?”

“I lock my recipe book in the safe along with the petty cash, and the safe appears undisturbed.”

“Your recipe book… I take it that’s valuable?”

“My most valuable asset.” He waved his hand at the furniture and equipment. “All this is insured. My recipe collection? Not so easy to replace. Though…”

“Yes?”

Ryan shrugged. “It’s a recipe book. It’s not much use to anyone but another baker. I mean… you can’t sell it or anything.”

“You’d be surprised what you can sell. Do you keep cash on the premises?”

“About two hundred in petty cash. That’s in the safe. Front of house… most people pay by card. I keep a little cash on hand for change. Fifty quid at most. If there’s more, I bank it at night.”

Ben finished his tea and closed his notebook. “May I see your office?”

“Of course.” Ryan led the way into the back of the coffeehouse to a small room that looked as if a tornado had paid a visit. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, and Ben retrieved his notebook and got to work.

***

I imagine that first meetings can be as nerve-wracking as a release day. For me, the latter don’t happen often enough to become routine, and I’m determined to enjoy mine as much as I can. If you’ve pre-ordered your copy of A Box of Wishes, a download link should be in your inbox.

And if you haven’t yet met Ben and Ryan, then why not order your copy here?