Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. First, he almost missed his alarm and tumbled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen in a way that would make Dolly Parton wince. Next, his coffee was ruined by gone-off milk. He showered, then looked out at the day, expecting a winter wonderland, but instead seeing nothing but black slush, with heavy rain falling down on Hay. Black clouds lingered over Kings on a relationship that would never work because Quinn's life was Hay. He needed to focus on his shop.

What a moment to choose clarity. What a moment to decide, you know what? I'm looking after me . Now, Quinn felt worse than ever, hopeless and despondent.

He entered the shop that morning with a determination rooted in distraction. He couldn't bear to stay in the apartment any longer. After two hours of sleep, he woke up feeling wide awake, and like he needed to do something. The nerves building inside him forced every part of him to move, like standing still would leave him open to hurt and worry.

With shaking hands, he spent his morning typing out the first few chapters of Hermione Sage's book. He didn't know what she wanted, and now he was unsure if the book would still go ahead, but she was on his side, a relic of what might have been. Mother-in-law, obviously. Before he knew it, 9am arrived, and with it, the time to open the shop.

Customers trickled in, which was always a pleasure, but when Quinn had a quiet moment, he found the old email from the job offer in London. Googling the name of the person who he'd spoken with during his interview, he saw she was still active, still working in the same role, and no doubt would remember him when he got back in touch.

Well, if he needed to get back in touch. The possibility seemed more probable as time went on.

Fearing he'd been sitting for too long, Quinn darted around the shop, making sure all books were in the right places, and that the signing, prepared the evening before, hadn't been destroyed by, say, a tornado or a raccoon. Not that Wales had raccoons, of course, but you never knew what could happen.

‘You've been on your phone a lot,' Quinn said after he caught Daniel in one aisle for the fifth time that day.

Daniel jumped, slipping the phone back in his pocket. ‘Sorry.'

‘Oh, don't apologise,' Quinn said. ‘No, I'm not that sort of boss. I don't mind. Who you texting?'

‘Um … a friend.'

‘Right, none of my business.'

‘When is Noah coming in today?'

‘You know what? I have no idea if he's even coming at all.'

Daniel's mouth dropped. The signing was ready to go for mid-afternoon, Noah's books were stacked on the table, and when Quinn looked around his shop, all was quiet. With the black clouds swirling above, this was his own calm before the storm.

‘So much for a white Christmas,' Daniel said, as if he knew not to pry.

The anxiety within him mingled with dread and fear, like a poisonous cocktail, and he wished Noah would reply, would confirm that despite everything, despite the rejection, he'd still show up.

He refreshed his emails whenever he got a moment. Checked that Instagram message for a green active bubble.

The queue formed outside, most of the people the same from yesterday, this time understanding the queuing process. Faces peered into the window, maybe hoping to see Noah at the counter, but of course, he wasn't here.

Would he be here?

Quinn hadn't thought about the prospect of seeing him. He wouldn't feel excited this time. He would feel embarrassed, scared, even a little awkward. But Quinn could see the bigger picture. Noah's signing was part of the save the shop plan. That was all he ever was and would be. Just part of the plan. He couldn't be anything else.

Customers trickled into the shop, forming the queue from the top of the aisle leading out of the door. They talked amongst themselves, but he felt like he should tell them the truth, letting them down gently, just like he hoped he had let down Noah.

Could you even let down someone romantically if they were only a friend?

Once again, hoping the customers along the window wouldn't see, he checked his emails, then Instagram, flicking between them both like tennis players at Wimbledon, hoping Noah would reply. Noah could be a total dick to him. He didn't even have to be kind. Right now, Quinn just wanted to feel relief that, despite everything, Noah would still be here.

Ivy came through the door, telling customers gathering in a crowd in the shop to form an orderly queue, and that the system was as important as, say, Nicola Roberts winning The Masked Singer. When she saw Quinn's face, she shook her head.

‘Oh, no, no, no,' she said. ‘Your aura is dark blue today. You don't look good, either.'

‘Wow, thanks.'

‘Black bags under your eyes.' Ivy peered at him like a doctor. ‘You look pale. That blue glow. Something is wrong.'

‘Noah hasn't replied to me,' Quinn whispered, aware that customers in the shop might be listening. ‘I don't even know if he's still coming.'

‘Diva!' Ivy exclaimed. ‘No, I will not have this.'

She rooted in her handbag and took out her phone.

‘What are you doing?'

She held up her hand. ‘Hermione, hello! How are you? Oh good, good. Yes, I'm just wondering if we are still on for today? You know … Noah?'

A pause, Ivy nodding, her expression so blank that Quinn wished he could read minds like she seemed to do. That familiar, twisting, horrible feeling inside him made him want to sit down, or drink some water, or get black-out drunk.

Then she said goodbye, turning to Quinn. ‘He left.'

‘Oh, thank god.'

The anxiety inside him melted like the snow outside. He looked at the shop again, trying to recall that feeling from yesterday, before Noah, of the smiling faces and the experience he provided for his customers.

‘No, Quinn,' Ivy said. ‘He left for London this morning.'