Chapter 1

Socks. Where were his socks? One fell out when Eric shook out his jeans, the other was still playing hide and seek. Under the bed, maybe?

“You could stay, you know,” William said from behind him. “Round two in the morning?” He sounded hopeful, and ah, shit.

Eric fixed a regretful smile onto his face before he turned to the bed. Sprawled naked across the covers, William was watching him with an appreciative expression. They’d had fun, really—a drink and a snog back at the bar before they’d moved things to William’s place. Nothing too heavy, just nice and easy. Exactly what Eric was looking for.

And now this.

He shifted his weight, still in just his boxers with his jeans in one hand, lone sock in the other. “Actually, uh… Thing is, I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Some other time?”

William frowned. “Thought you’re a songwriter?”

Right, Eric had mentioned that—mostly because he’d just had to ask whether William was really Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy, Sheryl Crow’s lyrics bumping up against Eric’s own impression that ‘William’ was far too grown-up a name for this cheeky, high-energy bloke who’d walked up to Eric without even a hint of hesitation. All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die.

“Call with an Australian musician,” Eric said. “Time zones, you know?” Fuck, he’d never fancied himself the kind of guy who made up excuses to scramble out of bed and out the door after a hookup. That wasn’t the kind of person he wanted to be.

“Oh, right.” William nodded like that made sense.

Eric paused to pull on his jeans before he sent William another glance. “You could give me your number, if you want? Meet up sometime, maybe.”

It seemed like the right thing to say because William’s frown melted away. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” Eric said when what he really wanted to say was, ‘I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.’

“Great,” William echoed, and Jesus, this was awkward. Or maybe it was just Eric who felt it because William’s smile seemed genuine as he sat up, blond hair messed up from Eric’s fingers, nice body and pretty face, good sense of humour. For someone else, he’d be a catch.

Too bad Eric wasn’t looking.

He located the missing sock underneath his jumper and pulled the rest of his clothes on while William programmed his number into Eric’s phone under ‘William Shepard’. Fortunately, William didn’t think to call himself—he’d stop waiting for Eric’s call in a matter of days and move on. After all, they’d known each other for barely even four hours. No big deal, right?

Eric might have skipped a goodbye kiss, but William took away that choice by rolling off the bed and tugging Eric in for a quick, sweet peck that left him feeling rather awful. Jesus, maybe he just wasn’t cut out for this love-‘em-and-leave-‘em lifestyle. Unfortunately, he wasn’t cut out for love either, it seemed, because three strikes and you’re out, right?

So. Celibacy, then?

Yep.

Once he stepped out of the studio flat and into a dimly lit corridor, his breathing eased. In the mirrored wall of the lift, he caught sight of himself—brown eyes a little tired, angular features emphasised by the undercut his hairdresser had talked him into trying. After having kept his dark brown hair cropped short for years, it still didn’t feel wholly familiar—but then, he’d been in the market for a change.

Outside, he zipped up his jacket against the humid air of a foggy November night, streetlights casting a diffuse glow on the damp pavement. A few pubs and restaurants lined the street, people hurrying along with their collars turned up against the chilly air. Goodge Street Station wasn’t very busy at this hour, and he made his way onto the platform just as the rumble of an approaching train vibrated through the air. The muted grey of the station contrasted with the vibrant colours of posters that adorned its walls, adverts for movies, tech companies, the latest West End productions, and …

And of course.

Of fucking course Rhythm of Shadows was among them, Lucas captured in mid-leap, dressed in sleek, black attire to highlight his muscular body. And either because this was Eric’s life or because a clever marketing person had decided to put the rumours to good use, the poster right next to it announced Max Fina’s upcoming album that would no doubt go instant platinum. How adorable—the two alleged boyfriends, side by side in all their dazzling beauty.

Eric had never fancied himself a cynical guy either. Thanks, Lucas.

The train ground to a halt, its doors hissing open. Turning away from the posters, Eric joined the trickle of people boarding.

Water under the bridge.

***

Eric came home to find Kojo bumbling about his kitchen. That in itself was no unusual occurrence—Kojo worked as a sous-chef in a fancy restaurant in Covent Garden and often stayed in Eric’s extra room afterwards because it was far closer than his tiny flat in Edmonton. What was unusual, though, was the time.

“Mushrooms and garlic?” Eric asked as he kicked his shoes off next to the door.

“And thyme,” Kojo confirmed, the white flash of his smile contrasting with his dark skin. He’d stripped down to a pair of jogging bottoms that might be Eric’s because ‘what’s mine is yours’ was an integral part of their friendship agreement. “On toasted sourdough.”

“Sounds great.” Eric dropped his key on the antique hall table that had come with the flat, bought by the previous owners during their honeymoon in France. With the divorce papers filed, they hadn’t wanted it anymore, and he’d taken an immediate liking to the history tucked into its intricate floral patterns. “You’re home early.”

“And you’re home late.”

Half eleven, according to the kitchen clock. Eric patted Kojo’s bare stomach in passing and went to inspect the contents of the frying pan. God, it smelled heavenly—no wonder given Eric’s dinner had been of the liquid kind, and he’d chased it down with a workout. Of sorts.

“You smell like sex,” Kojo informed him with a delicate wrinkle of his nose.

“It’s my new cologne. You like?”

“Fire your nose.”

“But I’m kind of attached to it.”

When Eric tried to sneak a mushroom right out of the pan, Kojo slapped his hand away and went to arrange the food on two plates that they took into the living room. Eric flicked the telly on to some rerun of a World Cup match—England against Belgium, the semifinal—and they ate the first couple of bites in silence.

“This is delicious,” Eric said. “Is there… There’s something unusual in there—sherry?”

“You’re getting better at this.” Kojo nodded, then set down his fork and drew one foot up onto the sofa to face Eric. “So. I quit.”

“You quit what?” Eric hoped the answer was smoking. It was a nasty habit that Kojo had picked up because just about everyone in the hospitality industry considered cigarettes a legitimate excuse to take a five-minute break.

“My job.” Kojo said it lightly, as though it was a mere comment on the weather.

Eric put down his plate and muted the TV. “You quit your job?”

Granted, the work environment had sounded terrible, dominated by a perfectionist chef de cuisine who was given to bursts of rage when parsley hadn’t been chopped to his exacting standards, coupled with a certain penchant for comments that toed the line of racism. It was a Michelin-starred restaurant though, and when Kojo had landed the job, he’d been enthusiastic about what it would do for his CV.

“Yup. Got fed up with being judged by the colour of my skin, so I found myself a new job. Threatened them with legal action if they didn’t let me go quietly—should’ve seen their faces. Fucking brilliant, man.”

Okay, that was … something. “You got a new job? Since when?”

“Since this afternoon. Starting Friday.”

“That’s…” Eric leaned back, blinking. “In four days. So, where?”

“Switzerland.”

“Switzerland?!”

“Is it just me, or is there an echo in here?”

“But—hold on a sec.” Eric raised a hand and dropped it again. “You only just moved back to London.”

Okay, so Kojo had returned about six months ago, after a one-year placement with a top restaurant in the French countryside. But the point was that life was better with Kojo around. Eric wasn’t prepared to give that up again so soon.

“Eh.” Kojo shrugged. “I’m fed up with this place. Perpetual grey skies and endless queues—give me some sun and a proper farmers market!”

Kojo wasn’t wrong, not that Eric would admit as much. “Switzerland is bloody cold in winter!”

“You better pack some warm clothes, then. Ski gear, too.”

“What?”

Kojo’s grin was sharp, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re coming with me. They’re looking forward to a pair of extra hands.”

Uh.

“I’m coming with you?”

“Again with the echo in here. You should really get that checked out, especially if you decide to rent out the place while you’re gone.”

“Mate.” Eric stopped, not sure how to continue because Kojo was serious, wasn’t he? This wasn’t just teasing. He was actually serious, a stubborn tilt to his head that was at odds with the grin that still lingered.

When they’d been younger, Kojo had dragged Eric on all sorts of adventures in the town they’d both grown up in—building a raft to sail the closest river, spending a night in the nearby nature reserve, seeing a film in Manchester when their parents had thought them off in the woods somewhere. Moving to Switzerland on a whim was the adult version of their childhood escapades.

Kojo set his plate aside and leaned forward, eyes intent. “Swiss Alps, Eric. Place looks gorgeous. Lots of history, starry skies, closest town is a thirty-minute drive down the valley.”

For a moment, Eric let himself entertain the idea—just pack up and leave for a while, trade a grey November for snowy mountains and crystal-clear air. It wasn’t that simple, though.

“Not much of a music scene, is there?”

“That’s what video calls are for. Plus, you can write songs anywhere, and you might as well be miserable surrounded by glaciers and stunning mountain peaks.”

“I’m not miserable.”

Kojo quirked a silent brow, his lack of response emphasised by the muted cheering on-screen following an English goal.

“I’m not,” Eric insisted. “It’s been a year since Lucas broke things off—I’m hardly still hung up on him.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re hung up on him specifically. Just…” Kojo waved a hand, the glow of the telly reflected in his dark eyes. “You’re a bit stuck in general. Think a change of scenery could be good for you.”

“Jesus, what is this—honesty hour?” Eric glanced away, appetite gone.

He wasn’t—just, no. He wasn’t miserable. He’d never been more successful as a songwriter, his reputation as a hitmaker soaring after his involvement in both Max Fina’s previous album and one he’d done with another British artist, which had won a Grammy for Album of the Year. He’d written it right around the time Lucas had walked out, so at least Eric had drawn some inspiration from the whole mess. And yeah, he’d exchanged his romantic notations for a string of hookups, but that was okay—only fools and crazy people kept trying the same thing again and again and expected a different result, right?

“How about”—Kojo’s face softened—“we discuss it in the morning?”

“I hardly think a few hours of sleep will change my mind.”

“Maybe not. Or maybe things will look different tomorrow.” Kojo reached for his plate. “It’s supposed to rain all day, just for the record. Because this is London in the winter.”

“Not going to happen,” Eric said simply.

Kojo smiled around a bite of mushroom toast. “Eat your veggies, will you? And turn up the volume. I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna win this one.”

“Because we watched it some five months ago and got very, very drunk afterwards to celebrate? You fell asleep on the toilet.”

“Ssh.” Kojo raised a finger to his lips. “Let’s pretend it’s our first time.”

Ha. “That’s what she said?”

Kojo’s laugh was a burst of brightness, dispelling any shadows that might have lingered between them. “Not into virgin porn personally, but knock yourself out.”

“Nah, thanks.” Eric picked his plate back up and inhaled the rich scent of garlic and thyme. “Honestly, I’ll take a modicum of experience over uncoordinated fumbling any day. Been there, done that, am several years too old for it now.”

“A modicum of experience?” Kojo tossed him an amused look. “You some fancy writer type or something?”

“Nailed it.” Eric’s smile came easily now, the memory of William’s hopeful voice banned to a distant corner of his mind, along with any and all doubts Kojo had nudged awake.

A change of scenery? Sure, maybe Eric didn’t currently land a perfect score on the happiness scale, but he was a twenty-something creative. Questioning himself came with the territory, and the answer sure wasn’t some remote Swiss hotel with freezing temperatures, questionable phone reception, and an inherent risk of being snowed in.

No, thanks. Now he just needed to convince Kojo that there were far better jobs in London.

Tomorrow, though.

***

By the time Eric returned from a morning run, Kojo was awake, bustling around the stove. “Practising my comfort food skills,” he offered when Eric stuck his head in the kitchen. “Doubt a bunch of hungry skiers would appreciate truffle-infused potato foam with a garnish of microgreens. It’s a half-board kind of place—good, simple food more than gourmet type of stuff.”

“How did you even find… What’s the name of the place?” Eric asked.

“Gletscherhaus.”

“Bless you.”

“Funny.” Kojo grabbed two pans, eggs, and butter. “Means something like ‘glacier house’ since there’s a glacier gorge just a few steps away. UNESCO World Heritage status.”

Eric wasn’t intrigued. So what if he’d always loved mountains more than the ocean, drawn to skiing and rock climbing much more than to any type of water sport? Just … nope.

He stepped around Kojo to pour himself a glass of water. “And how did you find them?”

“Caterer dot com. They needed someone as soon as possible, and I needed a reason to quit. Perfect match.”

Well, now that sounded like a rather low bar.

“Did you check why they urgently needed someone?”

“Yep.” Kojo let the ‘p’ pop like a bubble of chewing gum. “Talked to Adrian—the son of the couple who own it. Might be your type, by the way.” A vague gesture that could mean just about anything. “Far as I could see, he’s got that whole smile and body thing going on.”

Eric set his empty glass down on the counter. “Most people have a smile and body thing going on.”

“Nice smile, good body,” Kojo clarified.

“Doesn’t explain why they urgently need a chef.”

“Family emergency.” Kojo cracked five eggs into a bowl in quick succession, then mixed in some herbs while butter slowly melted in the pans. “They had an Australian one before whose dad back home just got diagnosed with cancer. The sous-chef’s been filling in, but she doesn’t want that level of responsibility.”

Fine, that sounded like a legitimate reason.

“You don’t speak any German.” Eric paused. “Or is it in the French region? And they’ve got Italian too, I think.”

“Don’t know, don’t care—Adrian and I spoke English.” Kojo bumped Eric over so he could grab more ingredients from the fridge. “Even if it was a problem, this is my chance to be the boss for a change. I’ll learn whatever language it takes.”

Eric wasn’t making a lot of headway with his quest to deviate Kojo to another plan, was he? Time to take a break and regroup. “I’ll jump under the shower. Thanks for getting breakfast ready.”

Kojo snorted. “Like I’d let you anywhere near this stove.”

Rude. But also fair.

“Back in ten.”

With that, Eric left Kojo in his element and went to get clean. He peeled off his running clothes, damp from a misty drizzle, and left them in a heap on the bathroom floor before he stepped under the spray. Afterwards, he pulled on a comfortable pair of jeans, washed so often they’d grown thin in places, and a hoodie that was a size too big on him. He had nowhere to be for the rest of the day and no one to impress—his keyboard didn’t judge him for skipping a shave.

When he made his way back into the kitchen, Kojo was about to dish up the eggs, mouth-wateringly fluffy and sprinkled with bits of cheese, onion, and bacon. Eric prepared coffee for both of them because that was a task he could competently handle, and then they sat down at the kitchen table to sample the first few bites in comfortable silence, the drizzling rain outside a stark contrast to the Highlife playlist Kojo must have put on. It hinted that he was in a slightly nostalgic mood, an implicit nod to his parents who’d chosen to retire in Ghana rather than stay in the UK.

All right. So. New tactic. Eric glanced over and found Kojo’s attention already directed at him, a tilt to Kojo’s mouth that said he was waiting for Eric’s next move.

“You do know,” Eric began, “that I can’t just follow you halfway across the continent like some trailing spouse. Right?”

“And why the hell not?”

“One, they’re looking for a chef. Not a package deal that includes a bloke whose experience in the service sector is limited to waiting tables for a year at a student dive.”

“I told them you’re the kind of guy who cleans a plate from both sides. They can’t wait to meet you.” Something about Kojo’s tone made Eric sit up a little straighter, over two decades of friendship having fine-tuned his ear to the nuances of what Kojo was and wasn’t saying.

“Ko. Jo.” Just the name, slow and pointed.

Because Kojo couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, it took three seconds before he caved. “I may have presented it as a wish to bring along my partner.”

“What partner?” Then it clicked. “Wait, what? You told them I’m your partner?”

“Implied, more like.” Kojo flattened his hands against the tabletop, grin unrepentant. “I told them I’d hate to make the move without the most important person in my life—you. Tell me, where’s the lie?”

“Um. You’re straight, for starters?”

“Wow.” Kojo’s face was the real-life equivalent of a jaw-dropping emoji. “That so? Big stuff, mate.”

“Seriously, though. Why would you tell your new employer—”

“Imply,” Kojo cut in.

“Why would you imply that you’ve got a boyfriend? Doesn’t seem like the best idea, starting your employment off on a half-lie.”

“But, hear me out,” Kojo said. “Because, okay, reasons.” He raised his fork to point. “I want you along—this will be much more fun together, and I figured you wouldn’t want to spend the winter surrounded by small-town homophobes. Or biphobes.”

And that, right there, was Kojo in a nutshell—oddly considerate even as he bulldozered right over any plans Eric might have had. Since nothing useful came to mind, Eric waved for Kojo to continue.

“Narrow-minded wouldn’t be fun for me either so, you know, good test.” Kojo paused for a bite. “Secondly, I thought it might make them more likely to agree to you coming along. Turns out they were looking for some extra help anyway.”

“So…” Eric sat back, the wooden kitchen chair creaking with the motion. “Let me get this straight.”

“Not your area of competence, is it?” Kojo tossed him a grin, and despite himself, Eric found his own lips turning up at the corners. It was an apt illustration of their friendship—Kojo pushing and prodding until Eric followed him down whatever side road Kojo had picked for them, destination chaos. Most of the time, Eric ended up having fun.

Switzerland, though?

“Let me get this straight,” Eric repeated. “You implied we were dating to rule out rampant prejudice and so they would take me on.”

“Correct.” Kojo sounded proud. “Adrian—the son—seemed pretty cool with it, by the way. Don’t think he’s much older than us, and he mentioned that he did his studies in Berlin. Could even be batting for your team.”

“Which is rather irrelevant since he thinks we’re boyfriends. Also, dating the bosses’ son is never a good idea, and given my track record, it would end in certain disaster. So, no.”

Kojo started smiling like the cat who’d got not just the cream, but the entire dairy farm. And—right. If Eric’s intention had been to discourage Kojo’s notion that they’d make the trip together, he’d done a poor job of it.

“Did I mention”—Kojo seemed to savour each syllable—“that there’s a grand piano in the dining room? And that you’re welcome to it at any time other than dinner?”

Switzerland.

“Oh, fine.” With a sigh, Eric picked up his coffee, the cup warm against his palms. “Show me the pictures.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“But you will.” Kojo sounded smug. Empirical evidence suggested his confidence was justified because where Kojo led, Eric followed.

“Show me,” Eric repeated, and if he felt just the tiniest wiggle of excitement? Well, Kojo might have a point about how winters in London were hardly uplifting.

Maybe a change didn’t sound too bad, all things considered.

Chapter 2

The road seemed to narrow more with each twist and turn up the valley. Every time the bus opened its doors, a shock of freezing air wafted over the seats. As mountains towered in timeless glory, green fields made room for white slopes, snow creeping closer to the asphalt the higher they got.

And God, Eric loved it.

The wistful honking of the horn before the bus rounded a blind corner. How calmly local cars backed up to make way while tourists got rattled, hectic in their attempts to pull over so the bus could pass. Twice, the bus driver got out to help by directing them to a safe spot, guttural Swiss German words at odds with the warm, collaborative way everyone interacted.

Halfway up to the hotel, the bus got abruptly emptier when a bunch of Indian tourists exited at a waterfall where Sherlock Holmes had found his fictional, if temporary, death.

“Diverse crowd,” Kojo commented once they were moving again, and Eric glanced around to find that Kojo was the only Black passenger. A handful of people might have a Turkish or Italian background, but other than that, the trend was White and middle-aged.

“You wanted a break from London,” Eric told Kojo. “Don’t think the Swiss countryside is particularly known for its diversity.”

Kojo’s eyes narrowed with a scoff. “As long as the hotel people don’t accidentally forget to invite me to staff meetings—three fucking times—and then claim it’s my, uh…  My cultural lack of discipline that’s at fault…”

Ah. Eric had wondered about the final straw to break the camel’s back.

“Not the impression you got from the guy you talked to, was it?” Eric asked.

“Adrian. And no, not even a little.”

“So, fingers crossed.”

Engine rumbling, the bus kept trundling along, dodging cars along the way. Another corner—and then the hotel appeared against the backdrop of the mountains, its Belle-Epoque stone facade framed by white-dusted conifers, a partially frozen river snaking by. Tapestry of earth and sky, Eric thought, then swatted it away as too cliché.

They disembarked with a few other people and emerged into a sun-flooded early afternoon. The bright day seemed at odds with an insistent breeze that moved tree branches and snaked icy tendrils down Eric’s spine. He zipped up his winter coat and stopped for a moment to take it all in. It sure was a change from London’s crowded streets and concrete buildings, wasn’t it? And maybe Kojo had been right because it felt… It felt good to be here.

Apparently, the owner’s son—Adrian, was it?—had told Kojo that snow had arrived uncommonly early this year, bringing with it a wave of winter sports enthusiasts who used the Gletscherhaus as their base. The same bus line that had delivered Eric and Kojo to the hotel just now continued some fifteen minutes further up the valley, with its final destination a ski lift that connected into the famous Grindelwald area.

It had been a couple of years since Eric’s last ski outing—he couldn’t wait to get out there.

His expression must have betrayed his delight because Kojo planted an elbow in his side. “So. What do we say to the guy who dragged us here?”

“I will hold all judgement and gratitude until we’ve been here for a week.”

“Please.” Kojo waved at their surroundings. “This place is like something out of your wet dreams.”

“And how would you know?” Eric asked.

“Teenage camping trips, mate. Teenage camping trips.”

They followed the trickle of guests towards a door marked with a ‘Rezeption’ sign, carrying their suitcases rather than pulling them through the thin, slushy layer of snow that covered the area in front of the hotel. A courtyard was off to one side, an open stretch of space beyond with a snow-covered playground. Signposts pointed the way to the glacier valley and listed various hiking and cycling routes.

Inside, it was warm and dark—aged wood and framed old photos on the wall, small windows to keep out the cold. Fresh flowers sat on a reception desk that looked like it had been transported straight out of the eighties, at odds with how all the other furniture seemed to be at least a century older than that.

They took off their coats and busied themselves by browsing brochures about hikes and historic train rides, waiting for a tall woman with long, greying hair to finish checking in the guests that had arrived with them—mostly German speakers along with a French couple, it seemed. Hopefully, Kojo hadn’t been overly optimistic in his assessment that language would not be a problem.

“You must be Kojo and Eric,” the woman addressed them once the last pair of guests made their way up the stairs. “Welcome to the Gletscherhaus.”

“You’re British?” It was out before Eric could swallow his surprise—talk about donning a Captain Obvious cape.

“Born and raised. Liverpool, to be precise.” Her smile was easy as she waved them closer. “I only meant to stay for a season, really—that was over thirty years ago.”

“Fell in love with the mountains?” Kojo asked, propping his elbows on the reception desk.

“Among other things.” She laughed. “I’m Sarah. And you”—she nodded at Kojo—“must be our new chef Kojo, correct?”

“That’s me.” He reached across the desk to shake her hand, grinning. “Pleasure to be here.”

“Pleasure is all ours. We’re so glad Adrian found you.” Her attention slid to Eric. “You too. Eric, right? It will be wonderful to have some additional help around here.”

“Thank you.” Eric grasped her hand—slender, elegant fingers—and shook it. “I’ll be honest, Kojo kind of sprang this on me out of nowhere. But this is such an amazing location, and I love the history of this place.”

“It’s been a hotel for over two hundred and fifty years.” She sounded personally proud of the fact, and Eric was about to reply when hurried footsteps on the stairs interrupted him.

“Mum?” A male voice, and something sparked in Eric’s stomach—recognition, except that didn’t make sense. “Urs Egli is on the phone, wants to know if he can drop by around four with the papers.”

Sarah raised her head to smile at her son, presumably. “That should be fine. When you’re done with him, can you show Kojo and Eric to their room?”

Room. As in singular. Because of course.

Eric arched a reproachful eyebrow at Kojo and received a shrug in return. They’d need to sort this out, ideally yesterday.

“Sure, no problem,” the guy chirped right as Eric turned to get a proper look at what must be Adrian—the one with the smile and the body, to quote Kojo. And…

And, fuck.

That was—no. It couldn’t be.

But it was. Side-swept, light brown hair and prominent eyebrows, green eyes, and a wide mouth meant for smiling. Tall and muscular without the unnatural bulk that Eric saw rather too often at his gym. Easy, confident stance.

Kevin Pine.

That had been his stage name, at least. He’d been one of ErosElite’s biggest stars some eight years ago, back when Eric had first discovered gay porn along with his own interest in it, coupled with being old enough to legally subscribe to a website that featured young, extremely cute men in very adult situations. And Kevin Pine? He’d been Eric’s favourite. By far. Eric had watched every single one of his sex scenes, including the talking bits. He’d watched every single one of his interviews and behind-the-scenes documentaries too, although he’d at least refrained from stalking the guy on social media.

Kevin Pine was…

Kevin Pine was the son of Eric’s new employers—in fact, he might be Eric’s actual new employer because Kojo had mentioned something about an impending handover from parents to son. Shit. Shit. Okay, so, granted, Eric didn’t need the job. But now that he was here, he also didn’t want to tuck tail and run right back to London.

Also, he was staring. And might have missed a slice of reality because Kevin—because Adrian seemed to have wrapped up his call and was coming down the stairs towards them with a beaming smile that was all Kevin, and one of the reasons Eric had fancied him quite a bit.

“Hey, welcome!” A light baritone that conveyed bright energy, and yes, of course the voice was familiar given Eric had listened to it for hours on end with his headphones in—flirty lines and laughter and breathless sex noises, groans and moans and everything in between. “So great to have you both here. Hope it was a smooth trip?”

Holy hell.

Eric took half a step back without meaning to, and God, he was blushing, wasn’t he? He hated when his face just did that without his permission. Problem was that the more he tried to will it away, the worse it got.

“Thanks, mate, nice to see you in person.” That was Kojo, easy as you please. “Good trip, though I gotta say that the bus ride up the valley is an experience.”

“Ah, you get used to it.” Kev—no, Adrian laughed as he shook Kojo’s hand, white teeth and still so very handsome even after all these years. He must be in his late twenties now, maybe even pushing thirty.

Jesus, Eric needed to stop. Get a fucking grip.

Except too late because now Adrian turned to him with the same bright smile that had roped Eric into hitting the ‘subscribe’ button and forking over his PayPal information. Definitely blushing, fuck.

“And you’re Eric?” Adrian asked with a tilt of his head, offering his hand.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me. Eric, yes.” Eric gave Adrian’s fingers a quick squeeze before he let go. Since making eye contact was impossible, he focused on Adrian’s cheek.

Which was why he caught it when one corner of Adrian’s lips quirked with sudden amusement. “Eric, right. Have we met, by any chance?”

He knew. Oh God, he knew.

“I don’t think so?” Eric hadn’t planned for his voice to tilt up like that, but nothing to be done about it.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Adrian’s grin persisted, and oh, he was enjoying this, wasn’t he?

“Pretty sure,” Eric said, much more firmly now. He could tell that Kojo was staring at him with a bewildered expression but refused to turn his head. At least Sarah—Kevin Pine’s mum, and shit, did she know?—at least Sarah was busy with some papers behind the reception desk, stacking them into a haphazard pile.

“All right, I’ll take your word for it.” A hint of amusement still lingered in the curve of Adrian’s smile as he turned towards their suitcases. “How about we delay the paperwork until later? Let’s get you settled in first.”

“Sounds good,” Kojo replied, and Eric nodded and shoved both hands into his pockets. Then he realised he’d need them to carry his luggage and took them out again, shifting his weight as he decidedly didn’t watch when Adrian bent down to shoulder one of their backpacks.

I’d be able to pick out your dick in an identity parade.

Oh, hell. This adventure was starting to look like a terrible idea.

***

So. Eric was a former customer, it seemed.

Adrian bit down on a grin as he led the way up the stairs. When people recognised him from his somewhat unconventional job back in his student days, it tended to go one of two ways—they were either sleazy about it, or awkward. Based on Eric’s rather sweet blush and the fact he’d been barely able to meet Adrian’s eyes, this was a door-two type of situation.

Hopefully, Eric wouldn’t need long to get over it. As fun as it was to picture a younger version of this gorgeous guy all hot and bothered, Adrian was aligned with his parents in encouraging a casual and relaxed work environment, and Eric skirting awkwardly around Adrian would be counterproductive. Also, Kojo hadn’t been subtle in implying that it was his boyfriend he hoped to bring along, so…

Best steer clear.

“I’ll give you a proper tour later—maybe just the short version for now.” Adrian stopped on the landing of the first floor, Martin’s currently abandoned bar corner just up ahead. “You already saw the reception area, of course, and breakfast is served on the same floor. On this floor, there’s the common area on our left.” Briefly, Adrian paused so Kojo and Eric could take in the space with its old, hand-drawn floral wallpaper. Antique pendant lamps hung suspended above armchairs and tables, the open fireplace and the creaky, overflowing bookshelves inviting guests to stay a while. Home.

“As you can see,” he continued, “we’ve got books, board games, and drinks after five. We do, however, discourage the use of mobile phones and computers on both this and the ground floor. It creates a bit of a digital detox vibe, you see? Gets people talking to each other instead of staring at their screens.”

“Is it hard to implement that? What with the way people are addicted to their phones and all.” Eric was the one who’d asked, only to immediately blush again when Adrian grinned at him. It was sweet—didn’t hurt, of course, that Adrian had a thing for athletic bodies and pretty brown eyes.

“We state it on our website, and again when people check in. Most guests respect it, even tell us it’s one of the things they enjoy the most—how it takes maybe an evening to get used to it, but then they love how it slows everything down.”

“It does sound nice.” The statement was followed by a look from underneath surprisingly long lashes that contrasted with a chiselled jaw.

Adrian reminded himself that flirting with the hired help was a bad idea. Yeah, it came naturally to him, but one, taken, and two, he was a couple of hours away from signing the papers that would officially put him in charge of the hotel, allowing his parents to scale down their involvement as they neared retirement age. And with that came certain obligations.

On with the show, then.

“It works for us. Also goes well with the history of this place.” He gestured up the stairs. “Here, we’re in the newer wing of the hotel, about a hundred years old. Above us are the guest rooms, three floors in total. Staff, my parents, and me—we all stay in the older wing that’s about a hundred and fifty years old. It’s in the same place as the original hotel, but had to be rebuilt after a fire. Follow me.”

He hitched the backpack he’d grabbed higher up on his shoulder and led the way into the dining room, already set for dinner that evening. It was a bright space, with a beautiful old wood floor, high ceilings, and tall windows they’d had to replace a couple of years ago because the heating costs had become astronomical. Glancing back, he noticed Eric’s gaze lingering on the grand old piano in the far corner of the room.

“Kojo said you play?” Adrian asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Another shy look. “I studied music.”

“He’s a songwriter. And a bloody good one, at that.” Kojo sounded personally proud of the fact, and that was nice—support and all.

“I dabble,” Eric said, and something passed between him and Kojo, too quick for Adrian to catch. Just a couple thing, most likely.

“Can’t be easy,” Adrian said. “Making a proper living off that.”

Eric ducked his head and adjusted the grip he had on his suitcase. “Yeah, takes a bit of a lucky break.”

“Well, you’re welcome to the piano anytime you aren’t working. On that note”—Adrian encompassed the room with a quick wave—“guests arrive for dinner between six thirty and seven thirty. The kitchen is through that door over there, and we’ll continue straight through here, into the old wing.”

“When can I see the kitchen?” Kojo sounded eager to get started, which fit the impression Adrian had formed during their two video calls—a guy who seemed to radiate positive energy, with a great smile and a sharp edge of ambition. It stood in contrast to the quiet, slightly guarded air of his boyfriend.

“Once I’ve shown you to your room and you’ve had a chance to get your bearings.” Adrian held the door for the other two, then followed. Here, the ceilings were lower, old wooden beams and small windows cut into thick walls. “Monika, the sous-chef, will arrive around three to start prepping dinner. Easiest might be for you to shadow her for the night before you take over tomorrow.”

“How’s her English?” Kojo asked.

“Decent. She likes to practise with my mum and me.”

“And where should I start?” This time, it was Eric who’d asked.

“Dinner duty,” Adrian told him. “You can shadow me.”

“I don’t speak any German, though. And only bad French.” Eric frowned. “Not sure how useful I’ll be.”

He seemed like a guy who hated feeling incompetent, so Adrian made sure to send him a particularly bright smile. “We usually have two or three international tables that prefer English, and I can also use some help clearing away empty plates and the like.”

“Oh. Right, good.”

A brief silence fell as Adrian led them past both Martin’s door and the empty room that had belonged to the previous chef. Then they reached the room that had been set up for Kojo and Eric, slightly bigger than the single rooms allocated to other staff.

“This is yours,” Adrian told them as he pushed the door open and entered first, setting the backpack down on the floor. Sunlight spilled through the double windows and onto wooden planks, a small table with two chairs pushed up against one wall. “Sorry about the rose-patterned wallpaper—it’s our biggest staff room, that’s all. I promise that the pink is not meant to reflect any kind of stereotyping.” He grinned as he turned to face them, lifting one shoulder. “Although I do own a couple of pink T-shirts myself, so, you know. Kernel of truth and all that jazz.”

Slowly, carefully, Eric set his suitcase down and looked around the room. “Um.”

Kojo snorted. “What he means is we’re not a couple.”

What.

“But you said—” Adrian broke off to remember the precise words Kojo had used. Something about a special person?

“I said I didn’t want to make the move without the most important person in my life. Well, other than my family.” The corners of Kojo’s mouth turned up as he nodded his chin at Eric. “So, meet my best mate.”

Mates. They were mates? Oh no, Adrian didn’t buy it. The mates part—okay, yes, maybe. But not the part about how it had been just an innocent misunderstanding.

He narrowed his eyes at Kojo, a small burst of irritation swirling in his stomach. “You lied to me.”

“I did not,” Kojo stated, although he looked just a hint guilty. “I merely implied—”

“He was trying to protect me,” Eric cut in. His stance made it clear that he wished himself far, far away, but for the first time, he met Adrian’s eyes without a trace of embarrassment. “We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere here, which—not the most progressive type of environment, generally speaking. I’m bi, and so he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Adrian took a second to review the words. “Well, I’m gay, so obviously it’s not a problem. My parents wouldn’t tolerate that kind of shit here, and neither would I.”

“But I didn’t know that, now did I?” Kojo’s tone carried just enough of an apology that Adrian’s irritation evaporated.

“I guess not. I still don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“Yeah, fair enough. I did mean for you to get the wrong idea, and then I missed the right moment to clear things up.” Kojo pressed his lips together. “It seemed like a good way to test the waters, make sure it wasn’t a case of jumping from the frying pan into the fire. My old job—they claimed they were pro-diversity, but the reality was a bit different.”

Right, Adrian had wondered why a skilled chef would switch from a Michelin-starred restaurant in London to a hotel kitchen in the mountains—yet he’d been too desperate to question Kojo’s claim that he loved the countryside and was keen to step into a head chef position. There was a lesson in there, clearly. Something about business smarts and asking the right questions.

Adrian would do better next time.

“Sorry to hear that,” he told Kojo. “Anything like that happens around here, you come straight to me and I’ll fire the person. But also”—he fixed Kojo with a serious look—“lie to me again, and I’ll fire you. I’ll cook myself, if I have to.”

“I can respect that.” Kojo’s smile was genuine as he offered his hand, palm up. Adrian grasped it for a shake, and despite their little hiccup just now, he did actually like this guy. He suspected that he’d like Eric too, once Eric dropped the awkward act. On that note, might be best to delay the introduction to Martin for another couple of hours or so, give Eric a chance to calm down before running into another reason to lose his footing.

Also, huh. So Eric was single, presumably.

Not that it changed how Adrian was essentially his boss.

“All right,” Adrian told Kojo. “Glad we’re on the same page. And in that case, I take it you’d prefer two rooms?”

“That’d be great.” Eric aimed a smile at the side of Adrian’s face. “But we’ve been friends since we were six—more than two decades—so we can also handle sharing a room if that’s easier.”

“Nah, it’s not a problem.” Adrian smiled back. “I’ll ask our housekeepers to prepare the room that belonged to our previous chef.”

“Thanks, mate.” Kojo sounded like he meant it.

“Sure thing. Now…” Adrian looked around the space. “I need to deal with a few things, so why don’t you guys have a look around, familiarise yourselves with the place? Then Kojo can join Monika in the kitchen at three thirty or so, and Eric, I’ll meet you in the dining room at five, give you a quick introduction to how we do things.”

“Sounds good,” Kojo said while Eric nodded quickly, hands in his pockets. Adrian looked forward to nudging him out of his shell, possibly more than he should.

“Welcome to the Gletscherhaus,” he told them with another smile. “We really are glad to have you here.”

“Good to be here.” It was Eric who replied this time, and Adrian welcomed the excuse to study him for a moment. Sue him—he liked looking at pretty things, even if it was just browsing without any plans to make a purchase.

There was a spring in his step when he left the room, relief loosening his chest. God, it really would be good to have the extra help because the last couple of weeks had been … a lot.

Hopefully, Kojo and Eric would last a while.

***

The moment Adrian had disappeared down the corridor, Kojo turned with a grin that would have done a shark proud. “So.”

Eric was a strong, independent man who could withstand the weight of Kojo’s expectant gaze. He was.

Silence.

No traffic sounds, not even a passing car—just the breeze playing with the shutters, the distant rush of the river, and muffled voices outside.

Silence.

“He was on that website.” Oh, bloody hell. Eric hadn’t even lasted a minute, had he?

Kojo tilted his head. “What website?”

“ErosElite.” Eric scuffed a hand over the back of his neck, then crossed over to close the door. It would be just his luck to have Adrian double back for something and overhear them talking. “The, uh. The porn website I mentioned? It was several years ago, not long after I came out to you.”

“Wait, let me get this straight.” Kojo’s grin was back, wide enough that his face was at risk of cracking apart. “He was one of the actors—”

“Models,” Eric interrupted, then wished he hadn’t.

“Models. Okay.” Kojo seemed to savour each word. “So, he was one of the models on that porn website you liked, the one that… I think you said it wasn’t as gross as some of the other stuff out there? Like, nice locations and guys who were hot, not just hung?”

“Yeah, that one. They built at least a bit of a story around the sex, and there were photoshoots too, and behind-the-scenes stuff that could be fun.”

Kojo pursed his lips. “And you’re telling me that Adrian was one of the … models.”

“Yes.” Eric should have left it at that. He really, really should have. And yet. “Not just any model either—he was one of the stars. I kind of fancied him, to be honest.”

Kojo inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing into small slits, the line of his jaw tense with suppressed laughter.

“This,” Eric told him, “is the moment when I remind you about that time you sent a naked pic to your entire nutrition study group, and I didn’t mock you.” Not much, anyway. And only some time after the fact, when Kojo’s initial mortification had mostly turned into amusement.

“Yes.” Kojo nodded. “Right.”

And burst out laughing.

“Wanker,” Eric muttered before he realised that yeah, he’d set that one right up for Kojo—silver platter and all, might as well tie a bow around it.

“Takes one to know one,” Kojo said, complete with the fist motion. Then he sobered. “Does he know you know?”

“Pretty sure he does, what with how I couldn’t meet his eyes and blushed like a little schoolboy.”

“Aww.” Kojo made a lightning-quick attempt to pinch Eric’s cheek. Since Eric knew the way Kojo’s brain worked, he ducked away just in time, catching Kojo’s wrist.

“Emotional support, mate—you’re doing it wrong.”

“Oh, come on. You already feel better, don’t you?”

Maybe Eric did, just a little. Not that he’d admit as much. “He’s practically our boss, Kojo. I know what his dick looks like both when it’s soft and when it’s not, and I’ve seen him fuck and get fucked, uh … a good many times. I know he’s uncut, for fuck’s sake.”

“You could offer to strip naked?” Kojo suggested. “If you’re concerned about the information imbalance, that is.”

“Why are we friends again?”

“Because you settle me, and I drag you out of your comfort zone?”

“I guess.” Eric sighed, glancing at the mildly nauseating rose pattern of the wallpaper. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do?”

“Address it with him, for one.” Kojo’s tone suggested it should have been obvious when no, it really wasn’t.

“I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘So, hey, about that time you had a lot of sex for money? Yeah, big fan.’”

“Eh.” Kojo shrugged. “I’m sure he’s heard worse.”

Jesus, Adrian probably had. He didn’t seem to be ashamed of his past, ah … occupation, for lack of a better word, so they must have treated him all right. But if he’d visited any gay clubs back then, he would have been hit on left and right by guys who recognised him. At least some of them must have expected a quick, easy fuck. Well, and the content was probably still up, so chances were that Eric wasn’t the only guy with a history of subscribing to ErosElite who’d ever passed through the hotel.

Yeah, Adrian would have heard worse.

“It’s probably best if I don’t say anything,” Eric decided, and Kojo scoffed.

“Mate, we’ll be here for a while. You’ll have to talk to him eventually.”

“Not about that.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the kind of bloke who tiptoes around the elephant in the room.”

Kojo had a point there. Those interviews and documentaries Eric remembered had painted a guy who put himself out there, who took risks because it was fun, who liked to entertain. It was part of why Eric had liked him so much—Kevin Pine didn’t hold back while Eric had, and maybe still did.

Unless Adrian was a world-class actor, he wasn’t so different from the guy in those clips Eric had watched. And, yeah—that guy wouldn’t just let Eric off the hook. God, Eric would have to talk to him, preferably without embarrassing himself more than he already had.

Right. And why not buy himself a unicorn while he was at it?

“Whose idea was this again?” he asked out loud.

“Oh, grow a pair.” Kojo sounded unsympathetic. “Who knows, maybe he’s up for a live reenactment of your favourite scenes?”

“Your empathy is astounding,” Eric told him, and Kojo’s expression softened.

“Stop overthinking it, mate—I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Let’s take a look around, check out the place, shall we? See what trouble we can get ourselves into between now and when I’m expected in the kitchen.”

That would also give Eric an hour to call one of his artists before he was expected to meet Adrian—plenty of time. “Isn’t the point to stay out of trouble?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Kojo asked, flashing Eric a smile that carried both a challenge and reassurance. It took Eric a second to smile back, but when he did, he meant it.

“Lead the way.”