Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

This was one hundred per cent a Christmas Eve he would never forget. The emotions he felt today should have been experienced over the course of a year, not a day. Alone, in his bookshop, allowing him time to take it all in. He should be sad, anguished that everything seemed so uncertain. But instead, he allowed himself to focus on the positive: the friends who had gathered, the support for him and his bookshop and a place for the queer community to feel safe.

He deserved to be happy. He deserved this moment of respite, where he'd exercised all he could do to fight for his right to stay open. He should be proud that he finally stood up for himself. At the back of the shop, the last dregs of champagne remained. He could have one alone. A private toast to the shop before joining the party at the pub. Quinn grabbed a clean glass and poured himself the fizz.

One last moment to indulge.

The glass was inches away from his face when the bell above the door dinged.

‘Sorry, we're…'

The flute of champagne almost slipped from Quinn's hand. Standing at the display of ‘A Christmas Carol' was Noah.

His blond hair was as artfully messy as ever. He wore a black duster jacket coat, a perfect length, and a green jumper, contrasting with his skin. Noah Sage looked at Quinn Oxford, a look that pinned him to the spot, freezing time.

‘Oh.'

Was that really all he could say?

‘There are some Christmas cracker hats left on this display,' Noah said.

‘Oh, yeah,' Quinn said. ‘I haven't got round to cleaning up after everyone yet.'

‘What was the outcome?' The shop. His future.

‘I don't know yet.'

‘I see.'

Noah slipped his hands in his coat pockets, looking around at the shop. Quinn crossed his arms, feeling at odds with the situation.

‘I suppose I should clean up.'

Any thought of joining the party at the pub slipped his mind. What was he supposed to do? Leave Noah and fear never seeing him again? Just by looking away, he might break the spell.

‘Let me help you.'

‘It's okay.'

‘Please, Quinn.'

Those stern words, spoken with a calmness that made him relax, that familiar Welsh accent that blanketed him in warmth. He shrugged, resigned to the idea, locking the door behind him so that no one could disturb them. Quinn rushed to the kitchen and found a box of black bags. He took one of his own, then handed the rest to Noah.

‘Is Matty with you?'

Quinn didn't know why he'd asked. Looking at Noah, he could see that it threw him. Noah's mouth slightly ajar, as if thinking of what to say. Finally, Noah let his shoulders droop.

‘No. We uh …we're definitely done.'

Quinn nodded, lips pressed together, and turned away to survey the remaining mess.

‘You know, I'm sorry for what I did.' Noah gathered the empty bottles into the bag. They took an aisle each, losing sight of one another. ‘For leaving you in the lurch like that. I wanted to do the signing. I had every intention of doing it. But then…'

The memory of their last night together may as well have been projected onto the wall. Quinn was glad they had a bookcase between them.

‘I got scared. I got scared of all of this. Being back here in Hay, with Mum, seeing familiar faces. I realised how much I loved it here. I started questioning why I ever left. Then I saw you.'

Quinn paused, a red cup in his hand. Should he say something?

‘I saw you straight away,' Noah said with a smile. ‘I looked out the car window when I came to Hay, and I saw you in the crowd, and then at the talk?—'

‘I did not wet myself.'

From the other side of the bookcase came a laugh. ‘No, I know. But it was enough to intrigue me. Did you know I was meant to go home after that? But I didn't. I wanted to stay to see you again. The closed roads were a blessing.'

Quinn was on his knees now, like he might pray. Truth was, he couldn't stand. Noah's words made him go weak at the knees. Curse such romantic cliches!

‘Even though I wore those hideous trousers?'

‘Even more so.'

Quinn shook his head, looking up at the rafters.

‘So I went to Mum's, and I forced myself to go into the town, hoping I might see you.' Noah breathed. ‘And there you were. And I wanted to say so much, ask you so much, but I knew I couldn't. There was something I had to deal with first.'

‘Matty.'

‘Matty,' Noah muttered. ‘But here, there was no Matty. And, I don't know, maybe I thought I could pretend here that I was single. I had no intention of cheating on him. I want to make that clear to you. Matty and I had broken up a long time before I came here. At least in my mind we had.'

Quinn closed his eyes, trying not to dwell on Noah's relationship. How long had he been in an unhappy relationship?

‘I don't think I would have left him if I hadn't met you,' Noah continued. ‘I guess I was waiting for him to get bored and leave me. That's what he would have done. But I saw you, spoke to you, and imagined what life would be like if there was an us. You were the one that brought home what I needed to do.'

Bloody hell.

He could hear Noah moving, and fearing he might come around the corner, Quinn clambered to his feet and tidied again, though he couldn't focus on such a mundane task.

‘And all of that scared me.' Noah laughed. ‘Ironic, isn't it? I'm a romance writer and I fear falling in love.'

‘Love?'

Silence.

The apparition of Noah had gone. The spell broke.

All imagination.

‘I think so.'

Not imagination.

Quinn stepped out from behind his bookshelf; at the same time, so did Noah. Now only inches away from one another. He read Noah's green eyes, saw the softness of his skin. Reaching out, he brushed away a strand of Noah's hair, feeling himself smile.

‘I left Hay to find myself,' Noah said. ‘This whole time, all I needed was you.'

Noah pushed Quinn against the bookcase. His hands found Quinn's hips, pulling him towards him, before wrapping his arms around his waist. Quinn looked up, taking him all in. He expected to smell the citrus scent, but Noah was wearing something different, something akin to cedar, and he felt safe again, like it didn't matter what happened.

Quinn slid one hand underneath Noah's jumper, feeling warm bare skin on his fingertips. He traced the ridges of muscle, that V-line, as Noah's fingers slipped under Quinn's own T-shirt.

Reaching up, he placed a hand on Noah's chin. ‘Look up, handsome.'

Quinn's breath hitched.

Above them hung mistletoe, with full red berries. Noah looked back at Quinn, a smile on his face.

Then everything changed. Quinn's lips were on Noah's, or maybe Noah's were on his, but it didn't matter who did what first. If his aura was dark before, it shone a bright yellow now. A warmth spread over him like it was a hot summer's day. With the smell of Noah's aftershave so close, Quinn almost thought they'd been transported to the depths of a forest, with bluebells at their feet and doves flying above. Quinn tightened his grip as he held Noah's face in one hand, and his back with the other. Noah's soft lips departed, only for a moment, and then they were upon him again, stronger this time.

Noah pulled him closer, and he felt everything. His erection pushing against his trousers, his muscle covered by fabric, the softness of his jumper. They seemed to float off the moss bed at their feet, floating in the realms of reality and magic. Quinn let Noah feel every part of him, from his own erection to his skin.

He wanted to reach every inch of him, to satisfy the aching hunger within, to feel every part. He wanted to taste him and experience him and be part of him all at the same time.

When Noah broke away – or was it him that broke away first – he realised he was, of course, still in the bookshop, not in the ethereal woods. Yet the smell of cedar remained, and the familiar smell of books made him feel secure.

Both smiled, then laughed.

‘I have to go,' Noah said, still pressed against him, not making any attempt to move. His forehead was against Quinn's now. ‘I have to go back home.'

‘To London?'

‘To Mum's.'

Relief swept through Quinn like the imaginary brook. ‘Your mum is out of the house.'

‘She … what?'

‘Didn't you go home first?'

‘No, I got here and then walked around Hay like a lunatic psyching myself up to tell you all of this.'

Quinn laughed. ‘Come on. I've got something to show you.'

Taking Noah by the hand felt exhilarating. As they ran out of the shop, through the snow, Quinn felt reckless. He brought Noah closer to him, kissing him under the falling snow, illuminated now only by Hay's Christmas lights.

They arrived at the pub, where the crowd from earlier was still in full flow. When they saw Quinn enter, his hand in Noah's, the place erupted. Deb and June, standing at the bar, looked from Noah to each other, threw back their cocktails, and ordered another.

‘You're back!' Ivy said. ‘And holding hands!' If Ivy could burst into a firework and whizz around the pub, she would have. Quinn was sure of it.

‘What colour is my aura?' Quinn asked her.

‘Oh, the sweetest pink!'

Everything was perfect. Deb and June engaged Noah in conversation at long last, and they even congratulated Quinn on winning over such a ‘dashing young man'. It seemed their rush to get another drink had been to get some liquid courage to speak to their favourite author.

When Noah got away from Deb and June, somehow alive, Hermione came to join them.

‘Noah.'

‘Mum, meet Quinn,' Noah said.

‘Did you fall and bump your head? We've already met.'

‘Yes, but that was before he was my boyfriend.'

Boyfriend?

BOYFRIEND.

A choir of angels sang, a halo illuminated his skin, world peace had been achieved.

‘Boyfriend?'

Noah looked worried, like maybe he misread their kiss earlier.

‘Boyfriend.' Quinn smiled, and he held out his hand to Hermione.

She played along, looking at Noah. ‘You know, I prefer him to the last one.'

There would be a time to find out what Matty had been like to Noah, but now was not that time.

The drag queens took over the pub, much to the chagrin of the local men that had never seen a drag queen in their life, yet softened when they found their humour to be the same. More drinks flowed, food was served, and everything would be okay. The joy, the pure elation, was enough to keep Quinn going. He stayed at Noah's side, feeling like leaving him would mean losing him again. As the evening went by, everything seemed to be how it should be: perfect and harmonious.

That was until the door opened, letting in a draft of billowing cold air.

Harold stood at the door, his small eyes finding Quinn's. ‘I've come to collect the keys.'