Sorry.
It’s fine, babe.
Quinn grimaced. Babe? No, he was not his babe.
You know we’re not together anymore, don’t you?
And whose fault is that?
Quinn gripped his phone, trying to decide if he should throw it at the wall or change the subject with Dougie. He knew he shouldn’t be texting him. To entertain him was wrong. Keeping the connection open meant it wasn’t closed, but blocking him and shouting at him that it was over felt callous and cruel. Instead, he left him on read, the kindest rejection he could think to do.
After popping two paracetamols, drinking what felt like two pints of water, and showering, he wrapped himself up and headed outside, feeling more human.
He looked at his shop, closed for now but opening before the festivalgoers came on by. Oh, how cruel a world it was to be having such a good book season, only for this to all go soon.
‘Hot chocolate, Quinn?’ Mr Andrews from the ice cream shop asked.
‘Don’t mind if I do!’ Quinn smiled, forced to take his mind off the impending doom. ‘How much?’
‘Free, my boy! The snow! We’re celebrating.’
‘A white Christmas on the way?’
‘Oh, definitely.’
Quinn sipped his drink as he trundled along the snow, his feet sinking and his socks becoming wet. So many merry faces, familiar faces, and Quinn could lose it all.
‘Morning, Quinn!’ Janet from the corner shop waved.
‘How do you do?’ Michael from Richard Booth’s bookshop asked.
‘Fancy a snowball fight?’ one kid asked.
‘Not today,’ Quinn said. ‘Tell your mum she has a book waiting for pickup.’
‘Will do!’ He threw a snowball straight at Quinn and ran away laughing.
Rude,Quinn thought, but smiled.
He thought about a morning coffee brewed at one of the local cafés. Maybe he’d get a bite of breakfast before joining Daniel on site. In the morning, only the locals were around. It was too early for tourists to venture into town. This was the slice of heaven that Quinn cherished. The community aspect of familiar faces, getting ready to start their days.
Other than the familiar faces heading into their respective businesses, the streets were quiet. As Quinn headed towards the Cosy Café on the corner of Castle Street and High Town, he spotted someone coming out of the shop.
‘Ah.’
Ah? What was he, a child sounding out the alphabet?
Noah nodded, as if he expected to see Quinn here.
‘Morning. Where are the parachute trousers?’
‘Burned in a sacrifice.’
‘Shame,’ Noah said. ‘They looked good on you.’
Quinn said nothing, instead looking past Noah into the quiet Cosy Café, which had yet to have the morning rush and the busy afternoon crowds.
‘Busy day of caretaking ahead?’
