‘Stop it?’
He looked at Noah now, properly looked at him, and wondered if he’d read him all wrong. A man like him, so put together, so successful, so much more than this small town, could never be his.
The promise he’d made moments ago, already broken. ‘Stop talking to me like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Likethat,’ Quinn said. ‘That I intrigue you? That you wished you met me sooner? I can’t do that, Noah.’
Noah moved towards him, and Quinn flinched like he’d been pinched.
‘Quinn…’
The way he said his name was perfect. Soft, questioning, curious. Quinn could let this happen, let the feelings unfold, and regret it all later. But now, of all the times in his life, he found his voice.
‘No.’ Quinn shook his head. ‘I might be wrong here, Noah, but I think I’ve been picking up what you’re putting down. It’s hurting me. It’s keeping me up at night. I can’t go there right now. You can’t go there right now. You hate this place, and I don’t. Speak with Matty, sort that part of your life out. Your mother. You have a whole other life, Noah, that I don’t fit into.’
Oh god. It hurt to admit it. Hurt to utter these words that were laced with truth. In an alternative universe peddled by Ivy, Quinn would be with Noah. But this wasn’t the other universe. This was real life, and real life was complicated. Since meeting Noah, the days had bordered on fantasy.
Well, now the spell broke.
‘Quinn, listen…’
‘I can’t,’ Quinn said. ‘Noah. I want to. But I can’t.Wecan’t.’
Noah moved closer, leaned closer, his eyes level with his own. Quinn felt trapped, but part of him wanted to be trapped. The other part of him wanted to lean forwards so that he could experience that static shock again, that feeling of safety and warmth.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong.’
Quinn gripped the arm of the sofa to steady himself. He was a glass and Noah a hammer. His words shattered him right there and then.
‘We’re wrong,’ Quinn interrupted. ‘I’m wrong. This is wrong.’
He wished he hadn’t ruined whatever might have been forming between the two of them. He wished he could be carefree and go-lucky like Bloody Blair Beckett, but he couldn’t.
Sure, Noah excited him. The idea of them being together was one that could develop and it was so easy to get lost in the illusion of something simplistic and fun. But every moment came down to the same thing: Noah didn’t want to be in Hay. The only alternative to be with Noah was to leave Hay. What was the point in fighting for his shop if he couldn’t be in Hay to enjoy it, to run it, to revel in the success of saving it? Why hadn’t Noah realised that? Did he think he could draw Quinn away from what mattered to him on the basis that he was the sweetest man to enter Quinn’s life? He couldn’t entertain such frivolous moments with Noah. Not when his fear held him back. Not when his life didn’t align with Quinn’s.
Quinn reached out to Noah and cupped his chin. He felt stubble that was yet to flourish. Noah looked at Quinn with a pained expression, one so instinctively lustful Quinn was sure it was reflected in his own gaze.
‘You said you wished we met sooner,’ Quinn whispered. ‘I do, too. Maybe our lives would have been different. But whatever might happen here, because I know you’ve realised something is, just like I have, we can’t have it happen. We need to forget it. Come Christmas, you’ll be gone, and me? Well, I don’t know where I’ll be. But it won’t be with you. Itcan’tbe with you.’
Noah, sweet Noah, was broken like a beautiful Christmas ornament before him. The shards cut through Quinn, but he had to ignore the pain and let them slice him.
Noah placed a hand on Quinn’s, but he didn’t remove Quinn’s touch. Instead, his lips found Quinn’s hand. Staring at Quinn, he kissed his fingers, his knuckles, the back of his hand. The kiss was light, tender, and it hurt every single fibre of Quinn’s being.
He could take his hand away. He could set the boundary right now. But he couldn’t. After the third kiss, Noah linked his fingers through Quinn’s and let them drop to their knees. Quinn felt his eyes sting, aware now that he was crying, but feeling foolish for doing so.
Noah wiped the tears away once more. ‘I’m sorry,’ Noah whispered.
‘Me too,’ Quinn choked. He could still feel the linger of his lips on his skin, wishing to feel them again.
He would not fight. Quinn wanted him to, but he knew Noah had heard him. He must have agreed with his words, because if he saw another option, he’d stay. He’d tell Quinn he was wrong, that there was nothing to worry about, and they could move past this silly moment and everything would be okay.
Then he was gone. The warmth faded from his hand.
Noah pulled on his hoodie. He gave Quinn one last, longing look, and then he left him behind.
ChapterThirty-Three
