He felt Noah’s warmth, like a radiator on the highest setting, and the brush of a comfortable knitted jumper against his neck, warm like it was fresh from the tumble drier. Closing the gap, wrapping an arm around him. He comforted him, letting him cry, soothing him with his hypnotic voice that should be on audiobooks.
Jesus, he was crying in Noah’s arms.
Wiping the tears away, wishing he could stay pinned against Noah’s shoulder longer, he moved away, trying to regain control of the situation. If Noah thought him weak or foolish, he didn’t show it.
But Noah didn’t let him go completely. His hand slid down Quinn’s arm and his fingers linked with Quinn’s. It was only a comforting hand hold, Quinn told himself. Nothing else.
‘What sign are you?’ The words left Quinn’s mouth before he’d even thought them.
Noah looked amused; an eyebrow cocked. ‘Aquarius. And you?’
‘Pisces.’ Quinn managed a small laugh, making a mental note to look up Aquarius and Pisces compatibility. ‘Sorry. I don’t know why I asked that. You said your mum was an Aries, and I guess…’
Stop talking, Quinn. You cried in his arms and then asked for his star sign. You’re not doing yourself any favours here.
Noah stepped closer, his eyes roving over Quinn’s flushed face. His hand dropped from Quinn’s, and he wondered if he imagined his touch. But then Noah wrapped his thick arms around him once more, this time stronger, a reassuring squeeze.
‘You should fight, Quinn. Fight for what you believe in.’
A shiver ran over Quinn’s spine, but it wasn’t because of the cold snap outside. It was his visceral reaction to Noah’s words that carried a weighted truth.
‘I need to be brave enough.’ Quinn sighed.
Noah held him even tighter. ‘Look, you’re going through a lot right now. You need to take your mind off it. Why don’t we…?’
The bell above the front door tinged. Noah’s voice stopped. The sentence never finished, leaving Quinn in agony, wondering what he might have said.
He looked to see who had disrupted such a moment, then spotted the woman in a black wool coat shifting snow from her shoulders. A man carrying a large rucksack stood behind her, brushing snow out of his hair.
Quinn wiped his eyes as they took him in with Noah Sage’s arm still around him.
‘Blimey. It’s Noah Sage,’ the woman in the black coat said.
ChapterEleven
How did this happen? Quinn watched Noah sitting at the altar of the church, the camera guy snapping photos of him as he held his book. Noah fixing a forced smile on his face. The black-coat reporter, Emma, a beautiful girl that was riding on the wave of luck she surfed in on, poised and ready to interview him.
Something inside Quinn sank as he saw his opportunity overshadowed by the author, who was born and bred in Hay.
‘So, Noah Sage, back in Hay. How does it feel to be back home?’
‘I got stuck here,’ Noah said, his eyes darting around the shop, trying to find Quinn. ‘The snow cut me off. I couldn’t get back to London. It just won’t stop, will it? The snow, I mean.’
‘Some might call that fate. Do you believe in fate?’
‘Sure. Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘I think the roads are clear now,’ Emma said.
‘Yeah, but they’re pretty treacherous for a four-hour journey back to London.’
‘But you’re home now. You came for the festival. How did that go?’
‘I always love coming to the festival.’ The words sounded rehearsed to Quinn. ‘It’s great to know that the festival continues to have fans that flock from around the world. And it’s always great to get to know others.’
‘And good to come home?’
‘Not really.’
