‘Not right now,’ Quinn said. ‘But we’ll keep you posted on Blair’s signing.’
‘What about Noah?’
‘Yeah, Noah Sage.’
‘We can talk to him, but I’m not sure we can guarantee that.’ Quinn said, wishing more than ever that he could guarantee that.
‘Is he coming tonight?’
‘I wish,’ Quinn said, then he realised what he’d said. ‘I wish everyone could come tonight.’
Swallow me up, baby Jesus.
‘Other events,’ Ivy said. ‘What else can we do?’
‘How about a Christmas party?’
‘Oh, I love a party!’ Ivy exclaimed. ‘Quinn! A party!’
‘When?’
‘Christmas eve,’ someone suggested.
‘Um…’ Quinn panicked, wondering how he could get enough alcohol, party stuff, and fun events in time for Christmas eve. ‘That’s like at the end of this week.’
‘Exactly!’ Ivy exclaimed. ‘Plenty of time. We can have drag queens.’
‘I don’t know if we’ll get any in time.’
‘I’m a drag queen.’
‘Me too.’
‘Me too!’
‘Three drag queens!’ Ivy said. ‘And the theme will be ghosts of Christmas past.’
‘Sleigh,’ Quinn said.
A hum of activity spread around the room like news spread of the birth of Jesus himself. ‘And what else can we do?’
‘A protest,’ Daniel Craig said.
‘Yes, a protest!’
‘Starting where they host the festival and ending outside the shop and the castle.’
Protests?
The idea of a protest scared him. The last thing he wanted was aggravation. He pictured books flying in anger, maybe burning and Santa falling off his sleigh, while the star on top of the Hay Christmas tree fell to the ground and landed on Blair Beckett’s head.
‘A peaceful protest,’ Ivy said.
‘Yes!’
‘When?’
‘The same day as the Christmas party?’ Quinn heard himself suggesting.
