‘Where is this going?’
The sound of people laughing outside broke the stillness of the shop. A thud on the windowpane followed by shrieks of delight told them a snowball fight had broken out. The sun, the brief glimmer of light through the thick clouds, gone. It was dark already – the height of winter.
‘Knowing everyone means I have connections,’ Ivy said. ‘You know the Hay Herald, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’
The Hay Herald was a staple piece on Hay’s culture. A local newspaper, as old as time itself, it seemed, with offices just around the corner.
‘We start there,’ Ivy said. ‘We get this story out there. You are not having your shop taken from you.’
‘There isn’t time.’
‘Why isn’t there?’
‘They want me out by Christmas.’
Ivy’s mouth dropped open. ‘They’re kicking you out over Christmas? Holy Mary. No, no, no, no, no. This won’t happen. Not on my watch.’
‘Ivy…’
‘No,’ Ivy said. ‘I have connections everywhere, and I’m not letting this go without a fight. You can sit here and mope around, but I’m taking action.’
‘I’m not moping?—’
‘Quinn, with all due respect, you’re a moper. And mopers never get things done.’
Quinn couldn’t help but smile. In the darkest time of his career, there was a shining light in front of him, like Rudolph guiding a sleigh. Quinn realised that all this time he’d needed a friend, but had let no one in. Ivy had come at the right time, a messiah or an angel, or something else Christmassy. Whatever. All Quinn knew was that he needed her.
‘I don’t want to be a moper anymore.’
‘Progress.’
‘What do I need to do?’
‘We show why people need this place,’ Ivy said.
‘I’ve got some ideas on how we can do that.’
Ivy thought for a moment. ‘We need someone to bring the crowd in. We need to show that this is the place to be. My god, it’s a shame you didn’t tell me sooner. I would have got Noah Sage in here.’
Quinn’s eyes widened, an idea forming in his head. ‘Can you get him in here?’
‘No, I’m not that well connected.’
The bell over the door jingled.
‘Oh, I must have forgotten to lock the door.’ Quinn sighed.
They both headed to the front of the shop, Quinn fixing an apologetic look on his face.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Ivy said. She grabbed Quinn by the hand, a regular occurrence in their relationship.
There he was, all six feet of him. He wore a black jumper and grey joggers, something Quinn forced himself to not look down at. His messy blond hair tangled on his head, and he wore glasses.
I didn’t know he wore glasses.
It gave him a professor look. If your professor was young and insanely attractive.
