‘That’s nice, Gord.’
‘You know Harold doesn’t want to turn this into a ticket booth, don’t you?’
Quinn’s gratitude for the partition increased. ‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me,’ Gordon said. ‘Said that he’s been sitting on a gold mine for years, and now with this castle opportunity, he’s seen another way to make even more money. You remember Harold was broke before this, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Quinn said.
‘He would often say he regretted ever letting the shop out. Said he should have sold it the moment he bought it.’
So that was why Harold tore away the safety of his shop: money. When his mother met Harold, he’d been doing the odd job here and there. He wasn’t raking it in. ‘Maybe he held on to it because the value would keep going up?’
‘More than likely,’ Gordon said. ‘Desirable area and all that.’
Quinn didn’t know how much Harold earned from the castle, but since getting the contract, he’d employed more people. Oh, and bought a new Mercedes. And went to the Maldives with his mum. He certainly didn’t earn enough from Quinn’s rent for all of that. Somewhere along the line, when doing the castle, Harold must have realised the opportunity he had to sell up. And if he sold up, he’d net quite a large profit.
They clambered out of the confessional booth when Gordon realised he’d run over his lunch break. He seemed to avert Quinn’s eye, as if seeing him made him realise he’d said too much. Oh, the power of a confessional booth.
As they approached the door, Quinn had one more question for his stepcousin.
‘Are you going to work on Christmas day?’
‘I don’t have a choice,’ Gordon said. ‘I’ll have to miss the kids opening their presents, and the Christmas dinner, but there’s always next year, isn’t there?’
Quinn let Gordon go, watching him disappear through the archway and into the castle grounds. He had a newfound respect for the stepcousin who was also under Harold’s thumb. Heading back to the computer, he pulled up the invite list and added Gordon’s name.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Hay went a full day with no snowfall, and the locals took advantage of the weather by clearing the roads leading in and out. As Quinn drove gingerly to Cusop Dingle, he passed others who were braving the weather. He approached Hermione’s home, driving through the gates and onto her gravel driveway, hearing the stones ping against the metal body of his car. Anyone else may have winced, but Quinn was in a Land Rover from the 80s that once belonged to the local vet. Quinn swore it still had the smell of a sheep that apparently gave birth on the back seat in 2002.
As Quinn got out of the car, the chill creeping through his layers of clothing, he shivered. But not from the cold. He tugged his jacket closer to him and took two deep breaths like he was in a meditation class. The nerves in his stomach lessened, but he still felt tense as he knocked on the door.
Relax, Quinn. Relax.
It’s just Noah.
Off the record.
Just Noah.
The nerves that twisted in his stomach were now beginning to flutter with excitement. He felt like electricity, and he was sure that if he touched the door handle, sparks would fly. A cosy night in Hermione’s huge home with gorgeous food and a gorgeous author in front of him would be amazing. A dream almost.
He had to admit, if someone had asked him who his dream dinner guests would be, Hermione Sage wouldn’t have made the list. Instead, he would have said what every literature lover would say: Hemingway. Austen. Kylie and Kendall Jenner.
Kylie and Kendall Jenner?Someone would ask, to which he would reply,Yeah, don’t you remember the books that were written by a ghost writer for them?
And that would be that.
Noah Sage would be his dinner date rather than a guest.
The door opened, and the nerves came rushing back. Only now he couldn’t wait for it to open, because the night was cold andthe press.
But Hermione didn’t peer around the door.
And it wasn’t Noah.
A chisel-jawed Calvin Klein model stood before him, wearing a cashmere turtleneck and black jeans. He smiled at Quinn, and instead of being attracted, Quinn was angry.
