‘Did I leave my door open again?’
‘I’m thinking you want me to come in.’
How could he say that was what he wanted and Noah was welcome here any time? Instead, he gripped the door like he might faint.
Noah headed to the kitchen and sat on the barstool at his kitchen counter. It was almost as if he expected breakfast from him. He headed to the kitchen and refilled the kettle, trying not to think about a domestic life with Noah where they did this every morning after waking up in each other’s arms.
‘Coffee?’
‘Chai tea?’
‘N–no.’
‘Coffee is fine,’ Noah said. ‘Uh … listen. Have you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘Harold was on BBC breakfast.’
Quinn gasped. ‘He waswhat?’
‘He’s been on the radio saying that you agreed to close the shop.’
Quinn flipped the kettle on, listening to it crackle to life. His mouth still hung open, like he was Edvard Munch’s Scream, only less artistic.
‘But I didn’t.’
‘That’s the truth?’
‘Yes, that’s the truth. I don’t lie, Noah.’
‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,’ Noah said. ‘But if Harold is saying that, what do you think everyone else is going to think? Sounds like he’s taking control of the narrative a bit. Classic damage control.’
‘What were you doing awake at 5am?’
‘Can’t sleep.’ Noah shrugged. ‘That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is you exposing Harold for what he is.’
‘I have an interview coming up with Bloody Blair Beckett.’
Noah stifled a small laugh. ‘BloodyBlair Beckett?’
Quinn covered his mouth. ‘Oh, god, did I say that out loud?’
‘Hey, it’s fine. Although I’m not sure what he did to deserve that name.’
‘No, me neither, he’s lovely.’
Noah nodded his affirmation. ‘The one good thing was Harold was on BBC Wales radio at 5am. Maybe fewer listeners because of people sleeping? We have some time.’
Quinn picked up his phone. ‘An Instagram post.’
‘Yes! Let me take a photo of you!’
Quinn held up a hand, realising how bad he looked. Oh god. Noah was seeing the morning him. The side of him he hid from people who looked like Noah. Drool still sticking to his face and his hair at all these angles? No, no. ‘I’ll post an older photo of the shop with a statement.’
‘Yes. You’re a PR pro.’
The kettle boiled, and Quinn poured coffee while his other hand typed out a statement on Instagram. Noah watched him, and he tried not to feel the intense stare coming from him. He hoped his shaking hand didn’t betray him. Hoped that he looked casual as he tried to focus on the words he wrote. He wondered how damaging Harold’s comments were. He supposed having Harold adding to the story would mean his shop could stay in the headlines a little longer. If not the BBC, then he knew the other outlets would pick up on the story. Family dynamics always made the headlines. Hey, maybe he could get a spread inTake A Breakmagazine.
