Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Quinn popped the champagne, fizz bubbling over the neck and trickling down the curves like an M weighted words that couldn't budge. An opinion so immovable, Quinn wasn't sure what to say. So, he changed tact.

‘I'm surprised we never met.'

Noah smirked. ‘The town isn't as small as we thought it was.'

‘I need to ask something,' Quinn said, drunk on adrenaline and too much bubbly.

‘Ask away.'

‘In that interview, you said heartbreak inspired you. You're heartbroken?'

Noah waved a hand, trying to dismiss the conversation. But Quinn, giddy, wouldn't let it drop. He moved closer to Noah, but not too close, because too close was too dangerous.

‘I only ask because I was heartbroken,' Quinn said, surprised at his own courage. ‘Guy called Dougie. A little while ago now, but he's been hanging on.'

‘Well, I would have known he would break your heart. Any guy called Dougie is going to be a heartbreaker.'

Quinn laughed, even though it wasn't all that funny. Maybe he had reached that stage where making fun of an ex felt good, like he could rebel against the mere memory of him.

‘Yes, well,' Quinn said. ‘I thought he had my best interests in mind, and then he moved to Cardiff and thought he was better than me.'

‘Oh, don't you know, they convert those who live in Cardiff into dickheads?'

‘Shh.' Quinn laughed, his eyes wide, looking around as if people from Cardiff were about to flock inside and attack. ‘You can't say that.'

‘I can. I live in London.'

‘What has that got to do with anything?'

‘I'm a dickhead.' Noah winked.

Actually winked.

And it looked good when he did it.

‘What? Cities change you?'

‘Yes, I believe they do,' Noah said. ‘For the better. For the worse.'

‘Has it changed you?'

Noah didn't even think. ‘Of course.'

Quinn paused, observing his cheerful smile, the flushed cheeks. ‘For better or for…'

What was this, their wedding?

Noah shook it off, running a hand through his messy hair. Quinn watched the strands fall into place with a bounce, and something stirred within. Like a feral animal, he wanted to reach out and explore him, but that was the champagne talking.

‘Yes, heartbreak is a funny thing,' Noah said. ‘Use that as a strength, if you can.'

Despite the settling haze, like fog over mountains, Quinn wondered who broke Noah's heart. Who would even want to do such a thing? Why would anyone lose him when they had him? He couldn't bear to think of Noah being hurt, of carrying something internal, something that rotted him from the inside. Quinn's own heartbreak had dragged him across hot coals, then threw him into the fire, then stuck knives into him, all while giving him an elixir of life, so he had no choice but to experience it all.

Heartbreak, to Quinn, felt like torture.

‘Is Dougie still in the picture?'

‘No. Is yours?'

Noah said nothing. Quinn winced, sure he'd gone too far.

‘I want to go out in the snow.' Noah put his phone away, but not before Quinn saw a text message on his screen. He wondered who Noah talked to, and he realised he wanted to see more of Noah, experience his life, understand him better.

‘It's too cold,' Quinn protested.

‘Come on. Just to feel it.'

‘No.'

‘We've got to go out anyway, to go back home,' Noah said. ‘Or did you forget where you live?'

‘I'm not that drunk,' Quinn said.

‘I can't sit on this any longer.'

‘Not comfortable enough?'

Noah lifted from his pink seat. ‘You try it!'

‘Come on, it's not that bad.'

‘I implore you to sit on it for a few hours and then come talk to me.' Noah laughed. ‘Everything goes numb.'

‘Everything?'

Noah met his dangerous gaze. ‘ Everything. '

His breath hitched.

Quinn put his empty glass to the side, his hands fumbling and knocking the empty bottle across his desk, and skipped to the chair. He sat on it, and as he did so it creaked before snapping, crashing the short distance to the floor.

They both burst into raucous laughter, hunched over as tears rolled down their drunken faces, merry on the interview, on winter spirit, and on the cheap champagne.

Quinn was glad there were no tenants upstairs, otherwise they'd complain at the racket the two young men were causing.

‘Come on. I think it's time to call it a night,' Noah said. ‘You can clear that up in the morning.'

‘Oh, yeah, sure,' Quinn said, as if this was the craziest suggestion anyone ever made. ‘I can't leave it like this. Let me clear away the mess.'

‘Hey, the booksellers got to do what the booksellers got to do.' His words slurred, making Quinn giggle.

They were outside now, their exit a blur to Quinn, who felt a lot more intoxicated than he'd thought, certain that he had cleaned the shop only a moment ago. He struggled to slot the key into the lock, and considered leaving the shop unlocked for the night, when Noah spoke.

‘It's a gorgeous night.'

Quinn turned, stumbling, to see golden light twinkling from every shop window. The centrepiece Christmas tree stood tall and proud, its branches dusted with white. The castle windows were a warm yellow, and that familiar silence stretched around them. Only this silence was no longer vacant, but full of life.

The snow fell, dusting their hair and their jackets while the alcohol numbed them to the chill.

Noah leaned against the lamppost outside Quinn's shop, an eyebrow raised, his smooth gaze on Quinn.

‘Hay in the winter,' Quinn said, his breath materialising before him. He needn't say anything else. He was too mesmerised by the way Noah leaned against the lamppost so effortlessly. He was jealous. Jealous of a bloody lamppost.

‘My mother used to say something to me when I was growing up.' Noah's eyes were fixed on the sky. Quinn hadn't been brave enough to acknowledge Noah's mother – the famous woman, the scandal. It didn't feel right. He only let himself go in that shop, which seemed so small when it had been the two of them. He'd been too afraid to let loose, reminding himself that Noah Sage was talking to him. Him.

Noah strolled the short distance from lamppost to shop door as Quinn's hand rested on the doorknob.

‘She would say to me, "Anything is possible. You are who you say you are. You already are what you're meant to be. The possibilities are endless, and they're bigger than you and me." She used to take her hand, like this…' Noah's fingertips touched Quinn's chin. They felt so soft and warm, and they delicately raised Quinn's head to face the dark sky. ‘She would say to me, "Look up, handsome", and I would say to her, "Why am I looking up?" She would tell me, "The version of yourself you want already exists. Make your wish, tell them what you want, and what will be will be."'

Quinn didn't know if it was the drink, or the desperation to believe, or because Noah's fingers rested against his chin, but he looked up and whispered, ‘My shop will forever be mine.'