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They clonked forward again in their heavy ski boots. To the obvious displeasure of several others around them, the teenage group started blasting music from a phone speaker.
“Well,” Eric said, “yeah. That’s true, I guess. But you and Martin have … an unconventional history, to say the least.”
Adrian fought the upwards twitch to the corners of his mouth. “Whatever could you possibly mean?”
“If you expect me to spell it out, you may be in for a bit of a wait.”
As timing would have it, they piled into the same cabin as the four teenagers. Adrian dropped onto the bench beside Eric, their thighs touching in the narrow space—no big deal, just a normal part of skiing, as far as Adrian was concerned. Hopefully, Eric felt the same way about it because the sooner they could find an easy, comfortable rhythm with each other, the better.
“Stört euch die Musik?” one of the boys asked, holding up the phone that still played some song Adrian recognised because it had echoed through every mountain bar last summer. He was ninety percent certain it was by that artist he tended to refer to as ‘the British guy’, much to Martin’s continuous amusement. Apparently, the bloke was kind of a big deal.
“Nee, lass nur,” Adrian told the boy before he turned to Eric. “Asking whether we mind the music, and I said it’s fine. Right?”
Eric gave a little nod, a tilt to his smile that Adrian couldn’t quite read. Maybe he simply wasn’t used to Swiss teenagers, unerringly polite even when they were three sheets to the wind.
The cabin jostled slightly as it detached from the valley station. Adrian’s shoulder came to rest against Eric’s. As the village shrank away, the teenagers began circulating a flask of something nasty and potent that made Adrian share a conspiratorial look with Eric.
It was weird to think that ten, even five years ago, Adrian could have been right there with them—blasting tunes to the rhythm of daytime drinking, hitting the slopes without a care in the world. Responsibility had been an abstract concept rather than something that came in the form of tax liabilities, staff retention, and the countless little repairs needed to maintain a historic building. He didn’t mind his adult reality, didn’t mind the idea of turning thirty next year either, but it sure was a change.
“Do you ever feel like you’re getting old?” he asked Eric once they’d exited the cabin at the top, the crisp mountain air harsh on his face as he gestured after the teenage group. They were already on their way back down the mountain, hollering and laughing.
Eric grinned, brown eyes warmed by the blinding sun. “According to my sister, I was born zero going on seventy.”
“And why is that?”
“Guess I’ve always been the responsible type. Like…” Eric shrugged. “Never stayed out past my curfew, always been an early riser, hardly ever got too drunk…”
Funny how in the past, that might have been a turnoff for Adrian. Not anymore.
“But you did drop everything and moved here in a matter of days,” he told Eric.
“Kojo.” Eric said it like it was an explanation, and yes, Adrian could see his point.
“Well,” he told Eric. “I can’t remember the last time I stayed out past midnight, so maybe you were just ahead of the curve and us others, we’re catching up.”
Eric’s response consisted of another shrug coupled with a smile. “Maybe.”
They kicked into motion, the snow fresh enough that it hadn’t turned icy yet. This time, Adrian didn’t push the pace, content to cruise along with Eric never far behind. It was nice to share the mountain with someone who actually enjoyed skiing, not just the scenery and mountain bars. A full winter here, and Eric would have no trouble keeping up.
Ifhe made it a full winter, that was.
Everything wenta little more smoothly the second evening. Now, Eric knew his way around the kitchen and dining room, and once the first guests moved over to the common area for a drink and things slowed down a bit, the Scots from yesterday seemed happy to regale him with tidbits about the Gletscherhaus’s history.
While Adrian had already shared some of it, Eric didn’t mind hearing it again—how the golden age of alpinism had brought wealthy British travellers here, adventurers and writers fascinated by the mountains, until the First World War brought tourism to a grinding halt. How the hotel had gone bankrupt a couple of decades later, only to be snatched up by an ambitious investor. How it had never fulfilled those sky-high expectations, and then the Fischer family had stepped in—a bargain price for what, at the time, had been considered a remote mountain hotel with outdated furnishings, in desperate need of a renovation.
In a way, it had been fortunate that Adrian’s grandparents hadn’t had the money for extensive changes. It meant that the hotel had remained mostly untouched when Adrian’s parents took it over. Now, with Adrian at the helm, he would hopefully continue the family tradition of preserving “its magnificent history for generations to come, passing it on to his children one day.”
Adrian happened by just as Mr Fraser made that last comment, and he stopped, mischief tucked into the crinkles around his eyes. “If you know someone willing to trust me with their firstborn, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Our granddaughter is single,” Mrs Fraser offered. “Good lass. Very grounded, excellent health.”
After briefly catching Adrian’s eye, Eric ducked his head so his grin wouldn’t be obvious. He busied himself with collecting empty glasses.
“I’m sure she’s quite wonderful.” Adrian’s voice carried thefaintest hint of laughter. “Unfortunately, I’m not in the market for a nice girl. Or any girl.”
For a moment, the silence threatened to turn awkward. Eric was about to create a diversion by means of dropping a fork when Mrs Fraser nodded sagely. “Ah, yes. Young people—one should never assume. Well, our two grandsons are very nice lads, too. Born and raised in the Highlands, so they sure wouldn’t mind the quiet up here.”
Adrian’s lips twitched. “That’s excellent. And does one of them happen to fancy guys?”
