He realised what she meant. What Harold did hurt her on a much deeper level. Quinn sighed, fearing the outcome.
‘That’s up to you to decide, Mum,’ he said. ‘For now, let’s have the trifle together and not leave him any.’
Claire managed a giggle and let Quinn dish up the dessert.
ChapterForty-Four
Quinn normally spent Christmas night with his mum, no doubt because they would fall asleep watching a film and then wake up too late for him to go back home. But this Christmas was no normal Christmas, and after dessert, Quinn knew he needed to go home. Harold had morphed into the Grinch and stole Christmas from them, and as Quinn left for his own apartment, he wondered if he might hear news that Harold was now living on a mountain for the rest of his life.
On his way home, he texted Noah, explaining the situation.
Harold might get dumped.
I’m coming over.
It surprised him, but made him smile. The support was going to take some getting used to.
In his apartment, he made sure everything was tidy, and made sure there were no embarrassing things lying around, like stray jockstraps, though he did consider ‘accidentally’ leaving one on the floor. Wine was chilling in the fridge, a Welsh Pinot made in Abergavenny, and a chocolate log was ready to be served. It didn’t matter that he’d consumed half a tonne of trifle. It was Christmas!
The doorbell rang, and Quinn’s phone lit up with the notification. He loved his fancy little video doorbell gifted to him by Ivy for Christmas, and as he opened the app, he saw Noah framed like he was about to go on a film set. Snow fell behind him, landing in his hair.
‘Come on in!’
Quinn approved the door to unlock and heard Noah climbing the stairs, knocking on his apartment door.
Oh, how he was nervous. This felt different. Intimate. Romantic.
He rushed to light some candles and then opened the door, leaning against it like he was nonchalant.
Only the door kept moving, and Quinn fell to the floor.
‘I really knock you off your feet.’
Noah held him up, and Quinn shook his head. ‘That’s how we open the doors here in Hay.’
‘Funny how I don’t remember that.’
‘Yule log?’
‘Stupid question.’ Noah smiled.
He took a seat on the sofa, near the Christmas tree, the candlelight flickering over him as he took off his coat and then his hoodie. Quinn handed him an empty wineglass, placed the bottle on the table, and then headed back to the kitchen to get the dessert. And maybe a box of chocolates, for luck.
‘So, what happened?’
He wore a tight white T-shirt, showing off the muscle in his arms, one of which was cocked, resting his head against his fist. Quinn wanted to rip everything off him.
But he was civilised. So, he didn’t.
Yet.
Coming back with the yule log and even more chocolate, Quinn tried to take his eyes off the perfect vein that went from shoulder to elbow in Noah’s arms and focus on what he’d asked instead.
‘Harold is selling the shop.’
Noah, drinking his wine, almost spat it out again. ‘Sorry?’
‘Selling it.’
