Chapter 1

Chapter One

Everything changed when he first saw Noah Sage. He loved those romantic tropes: your breath catches in your chest, your heart beats fast, you shake. He'd always laugh when he read those romance books with their cute moments. Only that was fiction. It didn't happen in real life.

But no, all of that happened. Every bit of it.

Standing in a crowd, lined up at the entrance to the Hay-on-Wye winter literature festival, were two women screaming like groupies at a rock show. They drew looks of disapproval from the uptight literature crowd who came to the festival to absorb ‘culture, darling', and nothing more. Amongst all the literature highbrows were the avid book readers of Noah Sage's successful romantic book series, all of them wrapped in coats and woolly hats to shield them from the cold December weather. The die-hard romance fans outnumbered the ‘culture, darling' fans, their introverted tendencies overpowered by their need to be seen and meet their literary idol.

Quinn Oxford had read every Noah Sage novel from cover to cover. As one of Hay's booksellers, he needed to know the new releases, especially when written by someone who was part of the queer community. He owned Kings such was the way with Ivy. She seemed to sprout and pop up when you least expected her.

‘Of course.'

‘Me too. Let's go together!'

Before Quinn could say anything, her hand, full of rings with glittering jewels, grasped his, and she escorted him across the field to the ticket entrance.

They scanned their tickets and entered the festival under the canvas canopy. Wooden walkways stretched away from them to different stages, all housed in similar gazebos. The atmosphere here was lively, with people browsing pop-up bookshops, buying from local makers, or drinking at the makeshift bars. The aroma of hot chocolate, gingerbread biscuits and sizzling food made Quinn's stomach rumble.

‘Champagne?' a young waitress asked.

‘I'll take two,' Ivy declared. Quinn held his hand out, expecting her to give him a glass. ‘Oh, no. Both for me!'

The server smiled as Quinn took his own glass; the bubbles fizzed inside, and they strolled further into the festival.

‘I can't wait for Stephen Fry's talk,' a passer-by said.

‘And Margaret Atwood!' another said. ‘I heard Dua Lipa is interviewing her!'

‘Shame it clashed with the talk by André Aciman.'

‘Ah, books,' Ivy said with a deep breath. ‘Count ourselves lucky we live in this area of the world, Quinn. It's just magic, isn't it?'

‘I love it,' Quinn agreed. ‘One of my favourite times of the year.'

Magic was the right word. Enchanting fairy lights crisscrossed above the walkways from the top of the canvas tents, glittering a warm yellow. Decorated Christmas trees were on every corner, their tinsel and baubles hanging with precision.

‘Christmas is your favourite time of the year?'

‘I think so,' Quinn said. ‘Who wouldn't love it?'

‘Worn-out people spending too much money because they get pressured by society,' Ivy deadpanned. ‘Me? I prefer Halloween.'

Quinn observed the rings on her fingers, the glittering amethyst necklace around her neck, and her hair tied up in a stylish bun. ‘I wouldn't have thought you were big on your horror.'

‘Not the horror side of things, Quinn.' Ivy laughed. ‘No, the spiritual side. Samhain. The veil is thin between our world and theirs.'

Quinn paused. ‘Theirs?'

‘Theirs.' Ivy's eyes widened. ‘The dearly departed.'

‘Of course.'

‘You don't believe?'

‘No, I do,' Quinn said. ‘I haven't thought much about it.'

‘No, people seldom do. It offends them.'

Ivy Heart intrigued him from the moment her flyer arrived through the door of his shop, a business card with her name attached, a name sure to catch attention. She ran a cleaning company, and the locals loved her. She carried herself well; a confident woman with an answer for everything. People were mesmerised by her as she walked by, how she shook her head and her hair fanned out around her. She was tall, athletic, beautiful, stylish. She gave off the vibe of a woman who loved herself, but not in a conceited way. Quinn thought that if she were to write an autobiography, it would be titled Confidence and Class.

‘How's your bookshop looking? Sparkling clean?'

‘I keep on top of things.' Quinn sipped his drink.

‘You know where I am if you need help.'

‘You saying my shop doesn't pass the cleaning test?'

Ivy grinned. ‘I'm saying, why waste time cleaning when you could focus on selling books?'

Quinn nodded, savouring the champagne.

‘How is the shop going? Business booming as usual?'

‘Always.' Quinn smiled, but he hoped Ivy didn't sense how he forced it.

‘It baffles me how these bookshops survive when there are so many of them.'

Quinn lifted his glass. ‘Thank the man responsible, Richard Booth.'

‘He's pleased you toasted him.'

Quinn looked around them, as if he might see the flamboyant ghost of Richard Booth, Hay's pioneer, float through the crowd.

Outside the tent hosting the talk with Noah Sage, the line of people entering included the two women Quinn had been standing next to. ‘Now, don't embarrass us this time, June,' one said. She clutched all three books from Noah's romance series. ‘Don't do what you did last time.'

‘I didn't do anything last time, Deb!'

‘You stormed up on stage with him and demanded he sign your teapot,' Deb said. ‘It was mortifying!'

‘It was not a teapot,' June hissed, blushing. ‘It was a tea cosy .'

‘Same thing. Let the man speak and we'll get him to sign things afterwards.'

Quinn and Ivy followed June and Deb into the tent, where string lights created a warm glow over bustling bodies. Already the seating area was almost full, and they walked to the back row and sat at the end closest to the aisle. Two shimmering Christmas trees lit up the stage with wrapped presents underneath and a projected image of Noah on the black wall.

‘Wow, good view,' Ivy said. ‘We'll see him in all his glory.'

Quinn stopped, his thoughts drifting to something a little more inappropriate. He sipped his champagne just as Ivy made a start on her second. As the hum of chatter engulfed him like a warm bath, he looked at Noah's image, which definitely didn't need any airbrushing. Somehow, through photos, he still had that piercing stare, one that was welcoming, yet seemed to suggest something more. Kind of like he knew something you didn't. It kept Quinn frozen to the spot, like staring at his eyes was a competition he couldn't lose.

The image of Noah changed to a familiar face, that of television personality Blair Beckett. The audience swooned at the man on the screen with a well-trimmed beard and sleek black hair. It looked like he'd been caught unaware while adjusting a crisp white shirt, its three buttons undone, with just a glimpse of his chest hair. His eyes held less command than Noah's, but they were dark and crinkled at the side, a smize that rivalled Tyra Banks.

‘Bloody Blair Beckett,' Quinn grumbled.

‘You don't like him?'

‘I think he brings bias to the news,' Quinn said. ‘He can't help but slot his opinion into the report, and it becomes more about Blair Beckett than it does about, say, social injustices.'

‘He's a well-respected news reader.'

‘Well, good for him.' Quinn shrugged. ‘I also don't like that he can just put his name on a children's book and bam , he's a children's author.'

‘But he wrote it.'

‘Did he?'

Ivy paused for a moment. ‘The spirits say yes.'

‘Well-read spirits.'

‘I think he's quite handsome.'

‘So does everyone in this room.' So did he, but he couldn't say that.

The lights dimmed, and people erupted in applause. Quinn joined in the applause as Bloody Blair Beckett came on the stage, not a hair out of place and a beaming smile on his flawless face, followed by Noah, who cast Blair's handsome features into shadow.

‘Hello, hello!' Blair's voice rang out over the audience, and Quinn was almost certain the people in front of him might faint. They were screaming so much they hadn't caught their breath. ‘Let's get the lights on you all. I want to see you!'

The audience got louder, and the house lights lit up the crowd. Ivy flailed her arms, lost in the excitement. The champagne in her flute came sloshing towards Quinn, landing straight in his lap, creating a damp patch.

‘Ivy!' Quinn leapt to his feet, feeling the chill reach places chill should never be. ‘I'm wet!'

The last words echoed around the room. The house lights seemed to act as a spotlight for the wet patch on his grey trousers. Quinn realised every eye was on him.

‘Do you need help there?' Bloody Blair Beckett asked, a look of concern on that perfect face of his.

‘No, it's okay, just an accident.' Quinn winced. An accident? Now everyone thought he was incontinent! June clasped a hand to her mouth while Deb looked disgusted. Why did he choose today of all days to wear his heather grey trousers, the ones that felt so soft on his skin, and now clung to his crotch with a chill colder than the snow outside? He stumbled down the stairs, his footsteps louder than a crashing giant. Walking in front of the stage, the spotlight illuminating him, he heard an audible gasp from the audience.

‘Good lord. The man has wet himself!'

Some people laughed; others made little muttering sounds. Quinn eyed the stage, his eyes finding Noah's.

Noah took all of him in, looking him up and down.

‘I'll be right back,' Quinn heard himself say as he wished the ground would split and he would fall through the cracks. ‘Carry on without me!'

He stumbled through the doors as the audience resumed their applause, just as Blair Beckett cracked a joke about excitement getting the better of people.

‘Bloody Blair Beckett,' Quinn groaned.