‘How is the shop going? Business booming as usual?’
‘Always.’ Quinn smiled, but he hoped Ivy didn’t sense how he forced it.
‘It baffles me how these bookshops survive when there are so many of them.’
Quinn lifted his glass. ‘Thank the man responsible, Richard Booth.’
‘He’s pleased you toasted him.’
Quinn looked around them, as if he might see the flamboyant ghost of Richard Booth, Hay’s pioneer, float through the crowd.
Outside the tent hosting the talk with Noah Sage, the line of people entering included the two women Quinn had been standing next to. ‘Now, don’t embarrass us this time, June,’ one said. She clutched all three books from Noah’s romance series. ‘Don’t do what you did last time.’
‘I didn’t do anything last time, Deb!’
‘You stormed up on stage with him and demanded he sign your teapot,’ Deb said. ‘It was mortifying!’
‘It wasnota teapot,’ June hissed, blushing. ‘It was a teacosy.’
‘Same thing. Let the man speak and we’ll get him to sign things afterwards.’
Quinn and Ivy followed June and Deb into the tent, where string lights created a warm glow over bustling bodies. Already the seating area was almost full, and they walked to the back row and sat at the end closest to the aisle. Two shimmering Christmas trees lit up the stage with wrapped presents underneath and a projected image of Noah on the black wall.
‘Wow, good view,’ Ivy said. ‘We’ll see him in all his glory.’
Quinn stopped, his thoughts drifting to something a little more inappropriate. He sipped his champagne just as Ivy made a start on her second. As the hum of chatter engulfed him like a warm bath, he looked at Noah’s image, which definitely didn’t need any airbrushing. Somehow, through photos, he still had that piercing stare, one that was welcoming, yet seemed to suggest something more. Kind of like he knew something you didn’t. It kept Quinn frozen to the spot, like staring at his eyes was a competition he couldn’t lose.
The image of Noah changed to a familiar face, that of television personality Blair Beckett. The audience swooned at the man on the screen with a well-trimmed beard and sleek black hair. It looked like he’d been caught unaware while adjusting a crisp white shirt, its three buttons undone, with just a glimpse of his chest hair. His eyes held less command than Noah’s, but they were dark and crinkled at the side, a smize that rivalled Tyra Banks.
‘Bloody Blair Beckett,’ Quinn grumbled.
‘You don’t like him?’
‘I think he brings bias to the news,’ Quinn said. ‘He can’t help but slot his opinion into the report, and it becomes more about Blair Beckett than it does about, say, social injustices.’
‘He’s a well-respected news reader.’
‘Well, good for him.’ Quinn shrugged. ‘I also don’t like that he can just put his name on a children’s book andbam,he’s a children’s author.’
‘But he wrote it.’
‘Did he?’
Ivy paused for a moment. ‘The spirits say yes.’
‘Well-read spirits.’
‘I think he’s quite handsome.’
‘So does everyone in this room.’ So did he, but he couldn’t say that.
The lights dimmed, and people erupted in applause. Quinn joined in the applause as Bloody Blair Beckett came on the stage, not a hair out of place and a beaming smile on his flawless face, followed by Noah, who cast Blair’s handsome features into shadow.
‘Hello, hello!’ Blair’s voice rang out over the audience, and Quinn was almost certain the people in front of him might faint. They were screaming so much they hadn’t caught their breath. ‘Let’s get the lights on you all. I want to see you!’
The audience got louder, and the house lights lit up the crowd. Ivy flailed her arms, lost in the excitement. The champagne in her flute came sloshing towards Quinn, landing straight in his lap, creating a damp patch.
‘Ivy!’ Quinn leapt to his feet, feeling the chill reach places chill should never be. ‘I’m wet!’
