Chapter 2
Chapter Two
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 sent 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 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 browsed brochures about hikes and historic train rides while 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. 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?