‘That’s right, I am.’ A red blush crept up Noah’s neck. ‘And you are?’
‘Going,’ Quinn said. ‘Have to dash.’
‘Do you always hang around in graveyards?’
It was a warm question, a gorgeous smile on his rosy-cheeked face. God, he wanted to pinch those cheeks, but he couldn’t because that is frowned upon. Pinching cheeks in graveyards was also a little weird.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard the tweet of a robin.
‘Under the yew tree,’ Quinn said, and then wanted to kick himself.
‘I see.’ Noah paused. ‘You know, those trousers remind me of a parachute.’
Quinn wondered if he would ever be able to forget about this day and these trousers with their patchwork and their soft fabric. The way Noah stared at him, admiring the trousers like they were his own creation, would be seared on his mind like a tattoo.
‘You’re visiting someone.’ Quinn nodded at the icy tombstone in front of Noah, so he would stop staring at him. He didn’t want to catch the name, but couldn’t help seeing the last name Sage. A relative of Noah’s?
‘I guess I am,’ Noah said. ‘Do you work here or something?’
‘Me? Work at a graveyard? No,’ Quinn said. ‘Who works at graveyards?’
‘Gravediggers, caretakers, cemetery workers,’ Noah listed, and his gloved hand looked absolutely adorable and not at all like it would hold Quinn’s hand perfectly.
‘I’m not any of those,’ Quinn said. ‘Like I said, I’m going.’
And digging his own grave with every word he spoke.
‘Alright, well, nice meeting you, hippie guy,’ Noah said.
He wouldnotbe called hippie guy.
But alas, Quinn said nothing, because words evaded him. He squeaked and trudged away, wishing, hoping, praying that maybe he had fallen and bumped his head, and this was all some weird dream.
ChapterFour
How are you doing?
Dougie. Why did he always text at such inappropriate moments?
Every time the text came through, it knocked Quinn off his feet. Not because of those romantic clichés, but because every time he thought he was over this man, he came back to remind him of everything they once had.
Quinn stood outside his shop on Castle Street where foundation walls from the thirteenth century met the nineteenth. His shop, Kings & Queens, looked inviting with warm yellow lights, a perfect example of Victorian architecture.
‘You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Daniel Craig, not the man who played Bond, exited the shop. He held his set of keys in his hand, ready to lock up.
‘Oh, yeah, no, fine.’ Quinn struggled to find his words. ‘I’m just going to deal with something in the shop. You go home and have a nice evening.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ Quinn said. ‘How has today been?’
‘Wonderful. Always wonderful.’ Daniel’s tote bag swung at his shoulder, full of books. ‘Some reading materials.’
‘That’s good,’ Quinn said, moving past Daniel to get to the shop entrance. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘See you soon,’ Daniel said, before stopping.
