Noah Sage hit the mainstream.
Quinn felt proud, especially because he was from this town. Quinn always wondered how he never met Sage. He soon discovered Noah went to a school over the border in England, and had left Hay at sixteen. Quinn had kept himself to himself, avoiding any male because of his feelings, and disappearing between the pages of books. In some ways, Noah did the same.
Certainly, last night’s admission of hating Hay had been interesting. Who could hate Hay? The people were friendly, the shops divine, and it was literally the town of books a.k.a. heaven on earth. No, Noah was wrong. Maybe he hated another town that rhymed with Hay-on-Wye. Though, of course, Quinn knew that wasn’t the case. Noah’s dislike for the place was clear in the way he spoke about it. The way he cleared his throat and hunched his shoulders.
But Quinn felt drawn to Noah, from every titbit in an interview to the always updating Wikipedia page.
Wow. Am I a stalker?Quinn wondered.
He stepped away from Noah’s titles, as if being too close would get him a restraining order, and headed back to the front of the shop.
It was the last weekend of the winter festival. He knew there were illustrious names up there, and normally he would immerse himself in the crowds and listen to the words of the authors, wishing he could be one as well. Only his life had taken him down a different path, and that was okay. He didn’t resent that. A life in London beckoned. Courtesy of a friend, a job still awaited him should he ever change his mind, but he wouldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t.
Flipping the closed sign to open, Quinn unlocked the door, and then drank a copious amount of water, willing away last night’s hangover and the faint taste of champagne.
He took pride in the shop. He adjusted the titles, reorganised shelves, and said hello to those that walked in through the door – each time glancing up at the castle as if it might come charging at him and take this all away from him.
As he scanned books into the system, getting them ready to hit the shelves, he thought of what he could do to save the place. The fundraiser wasn’t working out. He needed a bigger profile, or at least someone to come along and change everything for the better. Maybe he’d stand on the street and tell every passer-by that Hay’s only gay bookshop was about to close its doors. And what did they think about that?
But then what if they thought it was a good thing? What if they didn’t see a problem with the castle taking back a building that historically had been its own?
Well, history changed. This wasn’t the castle’s anymore. Besides, he suspected Harold’s motives. No doubt this building would bring in some serious money if it were to sell. All conjecture, of course. Maybe Saint Harold wanted it for a ticket office. Although, didn’t it make sense to house that in the castle reception? Who was going to come here first and then go to the castle opposite?
Maybe Quinn could take the castle. Yes, that would be plausible. He could gather an army of drag queens and queers and he could take back ownership of both his shop and Hay’s landmark castle.
Army.
Now, that was an idea…
The snow stopped, if only for a moment, and cheery voices went by outside.
‘Enjoying the festival?’ Quinn asked two twenty-somethings as they approached the till.
‘Love it,’ one girl said. ‘We come every year. Summer and winter.’
She held the hand of the girl next to her, and Quinn smiled.
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘We always come here,’ the other girl said. ‘Whenever we can. Sometimes we order online. I was a little worried the snow would stop us, but we don’t live too far away.’
‘Ah, I might have seen your names then.’
‘More than likely,’ the first girl said. ‘Past couple of times, though, we’ve been served by a guy who always tries to sell us books on allyship.’
‘Daniel Craig.’
The girls both mirrored the same humoured expression, and Quinn giggled.
‘Yep. Bond,’ Quinn said. ‘He’s straight.’ The girls gasped, and Quinn laughed. ‘But, of course, an ally.’
‘That explains the pushing of those books, then.’
‘These straight people – always shoving it down our throats.’
They shared a laugh, and Quinn handed them their bag of books. At that moment, Daniel headed through the door, saying something to a delivery driver outside. He held two boxes and letters and looked over them at Quinn.
‘More stock?’ Quinn asked, as the two twenty-year-olds disappeared into the winter street.
