Chapter 1 #2
“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 the one he’d done with James Ellis, 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 notions for a string of hook-ups, 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.
The answer sure wasn’t some remote Swiss hotel with freezing temperatures, patchy 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 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 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, mouthwateringly 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 realise,” 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 washes both sides of a plate. 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?” 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 only 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 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.