Quinn’s flushing cheeks flushed harder, if that was even possible, and as they clinked glasses, his eyes met Noah’s. They sipped their drinks with the snow falling outside the window. Night had fallen in Hay, lit only by the fairy lights in Quinn’s shop.
‘Tell me about you.’
‘Me?’
‘You,’ Noah said. ‘I want to know the man behind this shop.’
Quinn wished he had somewhere proper for them to sit. Instead, he sat behind his counter and Noah sat on a small chair that he found in the children’s section. It was bright pink and offensively plastic.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘As much as you want me to.’
Quinn drank from his glass, his eyes darting around the shop. Thank god for the atmospheric lights. It made enough shadows in the place that he didn’t have to see Noah clearly, and read too much into his expressions and hypnotising mannerisms.
‘Well, born in Hay. Lived in Hay. Mum’s a nurse. Dad’s … gone. Stepdad’s a dick. I studied at university, came out of university, expected to have a career, but I opened this shop because I didn’t like the sound of those boring nine-to-fives and hectic city jobs.’ Quinn sighed. ‘Disappointed Mum in doing so.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘Mum expected more from me. A proper job, is what she said to me. She wanted me to go into publishing – “at least put that degree to use” she said. When I said I’m putting it to use here, she shook her head. A gay bookshop is not what she envisioned.’
‘Because she doesn’t agree with it?’
‘Oh god, no. Nothing like that. I think she wanted more from me than to follow in Dad’s footsteps.’
‘Where is your dad?’
‘He died.’ Quinn thought about his dad’s wide smile, blue eyes, and always unkempt hair. ‘Six years ago.’
Quinn’s gaze fell to the floor as he tried to fight back the tears. It didn’t matter, anyway. It was too dark in here to see the small tear that fell down his face. He waited, hoping time would move on, and that Noah would change the subject, but there was silence – the kind of silence that seems hollow, yet full of static energy. It felt charged with something unexplainable. His thoughts raced, yet not fast enough, because there wasn’t enough to distract from how empty everything seemed.
Emotions could be a fickle thing. Three sips of champagne and already he was crying? Wow! That was a record for Quinn the Pisces. He’d always tended to live up to that slippery fish water sign. His father’s voice swam back to him, passing the Piscean fish in the stream.Your emotions will get the better of you, but that does not make you weak.Those words, spoken to him in his father’s North-Walian dialect, seemed as clear to him as if he was in this very shop.
Quinn sometimes wondered if that was why he let people walk over him, why he needed to appease others. He was so in tune with his own emotions that they overflowed to others.
‘What happened to him?’ Noah seemed to have the tendency to bring Quinn back to land. Hooked, lined, and gutted.
‘Car crash,’ Quinn managed and the tears fell now. He was a quiet crier, but his shoulders must have betrayed him, shaking like an earthquake, because then Noah was next to him, and his hand held tight to Quinn’s. ‘One day, he was a smiley, classic dad. Next, we’re burying him.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Quinn pulled away from Noah, overwhelmed by how close he was. That citrus smell was back, making him feel like he was on some Aegean fruit farm. He wiped his eyes with his free hand.
‘Don’t apologise. It’s fine.’ Quinn cleared his throat again, forcing back the tears that wanted to come, but damming them up as best as he could. ‘I’ll see him again someday, I’m sure. He would have been proud of this place. I know he would have been.’
‘You said you followed in his footsteps. Was he a bookseller?’
‘He was a pilot at first, lived in London, then he was a bookseller,’ Quinn said. ‘Knew everything there was about good first editions, limited editions, what would sell, what wouldn’t. He owned the shop two doors down from here, and people loved him. People often speak fondly of him. They come in here to talk to me about him, and it’s like he’s still here, you know?’ Quinn got to his feet and pointed to a photo of a man pinned on a notice board. ‘That’s him. My dad.’
Noah joined him at the board. His face broke out into a smile, and Quinn loved to see it. ‘He looks kind.’
‘He was kind.’
‘And he looks like you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Handsome.’
