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An ensuing argument about the relative complexities of modern washing machines carried them into the church, many of its rows already filled with townspeople. They found space near the back, Adrian sliding in first with Eric right next to him. It was warmer in here, a hint of frankincense lingering, mingled voices and laughter, the instruments at the front gleaming in the low light.
“Does everyone here know about your”—Eric glanced at the altar—“unconventional past?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Adrian grinned. “You grew up in a small town too. Surely you’ve seen how the speed of light is no match for the speed of a juicy piece of gossip.”
“Point taken.” A silent laugh danced across Eric’s face as he unzipped his winter coat. “So everyone here is fine with it?”
“Of course not.” Off the top of his head, Adrian could name a dozen people who’d felt entitled to rude comments. “But that’s their problem, not mine. You should have seen the rumour mill when I came back with Martin in tow, though. And again when Martin started dating Matteo.”
“Why did you and Martin never become a thing?”
Ah, yes—the eternal question. Eric wasn’t the first person who’d asked, and he wouldn’t be the last.
“I think in some ways, we’re too similar. It makes us great friends, but it’s like…” Adrian shrugged. “There’s no spark.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
Just then, Adrian’s former primary school teacher and her husband took the remaining spots next to Eric. Adrian exchanged greetings with them and noticed Eric shifting closer to make room for the couple. His thigh pressed against Adrian’s.
Whatever Adrian’s face showed made Eric look away quickly, a faint blush stealing over his cheeks. Adrian let his gaze linger for a moment before he pulled it away—his gaze but not his attention. He remained aware of Eric’s solid warmth beside him even as the musicians took the stage.
It would happen.
When Eric had first arrivedin London, he’d gorged himself on free live music. He’d stopped whenever a street performer caught his attention, dragged Kojo to summer concerts at Trafalgar Square and Southbank Centre, and attended live music nights at small pubs, sometimes by himself and sometimes with others, nursing the same beer all evening because money had been tight.
Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, high-calibre concerts had become part of his professional routine, and he’d forgotten about open mic nights and community music events.
He hadn’t realised he missed them.
It was… God, it wasfun. A bunch of musicians who must have been professionals before retiring a couple of decades ago, jamming it up. A responsive crowd, eager to laugh at jokes Eric didn’t understand because whatever explanations Adrian whispered in his ear were lost to the buzz around them and Eric’s own beating heart. Each song seemed to move them a little closer together,The Girl from Ipanemaand Eric leaned his shoulder against Adrian’s,Autumn Leavesand Adrian’s knuckles brushed against the outside of Eric’s thigh. There was this moment when Eric turned his head just as Adrian was about to pull away, the translation he’d offered registering as a gust of warm air on Eric’s skin—and suddenly they were a breath apart.
Adrian’s body stilled, his gaze dropping to Eric’s mouth before their eyes met. If Eric were to kiss him right now, in front of everyone… Adrian wouldn’t turn him away.
And still Eric hesitated.
Around them, applause swelled. Adrian inhaled deeply before his lips curved into a quiet smile. “Did you catch what I just said?”
It took a second before Eric managed to smile back. “Not a word.”
One of Adrian’s eyebrows arched. “Do you want me to stop translating?”
“Don’t you dare.” Not quite how Eric had intended to put it, but he had no desire to take it back.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth tugging up further. “Noted.”
Since there was no response that came to mind, Eric settled for nudging his foot against Adrian’s, and then he just left it there. It wasn’t much, yet he felt brave taking even that small a risk when he’d learned that he was better off not wanting what wasn’t freely offered.
The band played on, and his mind stepped in for an absent singer.Fill my heart with song. You are the promised kiss of springtime. You know I’m yours for the very taking.Each time he glanced at Adrian, he needed a second to look away.
Standing ovations brought the band back for an encore. People clapped and hollered for Paul, the ninety-year-old piano player withsnow-white hair and crow’s feet radiating out from the corners of his eyes. Afterwards, Adrian dragged Eric to the front for an introduction, and Paul seemed genuinely delighted to hear that the grand piano at the Gletscherhaus had found a new player. Since Eric had been raised to respect his elders, he introduced himself with his full name, then briefly worried that it might spark some recognition. Not so—and of course not given the band’s repertoire reflected the average age of its members.
They exited into a night that had turned bitingly cold, most of the crowd already dispersed, streetlights painting orange circles onto the pavement. For once, Adrian seemed content to let silence do the talking, their elbows bumping every other step.Flip a gambler’s coin, Eric thought but didn’t say. The headlights of a passing car edged Adrian’s profile in brightness.
Silence still lingered when Adrian started the car, the heating vent humming in tune with the engine. It wasn’t uncomfortable, so Eric could have simply let it sit for a while longer, gentle anticipation warming the back of his neck.
“Thank you for inviting me along,” he told Adrian, voice low to blend in with the night.
Adrian’s smile showed in his voice. “You enjoyed it?”
