Today should be the most magical of days, where he could celebrate with family and relax. But the memory of yesterday, foggy after one too many champagne flutes, came back to him. The first official day without his shop.
The prospect of having to play happy families opposite Harold made him want to jump from the loft window. Maybe Harold woke up ill and would be bed-bound all day. Or, maybe, he would see sense and give him his shop back.
Then there was Noah.
Oh, sweet Noah.
Their anniversary would be Christmas Eve! Boyfriends! They were Christmas Eve boyfriends! When everything else changed, Noah was there when he needed him most. He ruined a book signing, but that didn’t matter anymore. Though maybe he would punish him.
Must find out if Noah likes S&M.
Quinn got out of bed and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. It might be zero degrees outside, but Claire’s house was like Hawaii in the peak of summer. The old house pipes groaned day in, day out as they pumped warmth throughout the rooms.
His mum’s house had always been nice and his father’s touches were still visible, even after all these years. This loft was Harold’s brainchild, another reason he woke up in a bad mood, and it felt too modern for the Georgian home. As soon as he was downstairs, back on the second floor, everything felt right again.
The home had a rustic charm mixed with academia. If that was even a thing. On the landing was an antique table with a chair that had books stacked on it. The bedrooms, with their large ceilings, had a musty feel to them, with netted curtains and lots of natural light, sometimes obscured by … more books!
The stairs creaked underneath Quinn’s Pokémon socks. They were uneven, too, so Quinn held the railing, just in case.
They led to an open plan living room, an oasis of house plants and, yes, more books. Two double doors opened up to a garden full of more plants, which of course were dead now, their corpses mummified by snow. He walked into the beige kitchen with more plants and many more books, and granite tabletops. Harold was already at the dining table, decorated with candles, a wreath, and cutlery, the Christmas crackers placed in front of the plates.
When Quinn entered, his mother, red-faced, smiled. ‘Merry Christmas!’
Harold looked up from the newspaper, and Quinn avoided his eye. He could get through today without saying a word to him.
He could.
‘Merry Christmas, Mum!’ He hugged her, observing the vegetables boiling on the stove. ‘Dinner looks good.’
‘Yes, it should be. I cooked it.’ She winked, then took his hand. ‘Are you ready for your Christmas present?’
He credited his mum for keeping the Christmas spirit alive. Every year she made sure that she planned his Christmas gifts out to a tee, making sure they were wrapped and waiting for him when he awoke in the morning. It made him smile.
‘Only if you’re ready for yours!’
Last night, like Santa himself, Quinn sneaked into the conservatory, where they always left their presents, and placed his mother’s gifts next to his own. He had even bought something for Harold, despite everything.
‘Come on, then.’
They went into the conservatory together where a small pile of presents waited. Quinn unwrapped his, opening books, some clothes, and then a brand-new plant for his apartment. As his mum talked him through how to care for the lava rock plant, which was the cutest thing ever, he felt a pang of guilt that she had yet to know about Noah, and the possibility of a new life in London.
Finally, there was a rectangular-shaped present left to open.
‘Open this before I open mine.’
Quinn picked it up, underestimating its weight, and almost dropped it. His mum gasped, but breathed a sigh of relief when he secured it. He unwrapped the candy cane printed paper and saw that it was a framed photograph.
Upon seeing the photo, he cried.
It was a photo of his shop, only it wasn’t his then. He was younger in the photo, stood to the side, with his dad next to him, his arm around his son. His lost shop, Kings & Queens, centred right in the middle, almost predicting the future.
‘I didn’t know this photo existed.’ Quinn sobbed.
His dad. Him. In front of what would become his own bookshop. He couldn’t believe it.
‘Neither did I,’ Claire said. ‘But when we were renovating the attic, I found a box of photos. Gerald had them developed and put them all away. And this was in there. I wanted to show it to you straight away, but then I thought it would make a pleasant surprise.’
‘It’s a beautiful surprise.’ Quinn got to his feet and hugged his mum. He could feel her shake in his arms, and knew she was crying, too. ‘Thank you. So much.’
