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“I can respect a goodHunger Gamesreference.” Kojo nodded his approval. “Eric, you in too?”
“Like that’s a question,” Eric told him. “When have I ever not been up for tasting your cooking?”
“And this,” Kojo said, “is why you’re my favourite.”
Eric grinned at him. “It’s mutual.”
The thought crossed Eric’s mind that returning to London byhimself would suck. If Kojo really chose to see his year-long contact through, maybe even decided to extend it…
Well, Eric would be here for another two months. No point yet in worrying about what came after.
Matteo hadclever eyes and boy-next-door good looks, his relaxed air a contrast to Martin’s bright energy. They’d arrived by train half an hour ago, back from visiting Matteo’s family in Northern Italy, and met up with Eric, Kojo, and Adrian at a nearby lakeside town.
Eric couldn’t help but observe the dynamic between Adrian, Martin, and Matteo. It wasn’t that he doubted Adrian’s claim that there was nothing but friendship between him and Martin, but… But surely Eric’s past mistakes justified a closer look?
It wasn’t jealousy. It honestly wasn’t. Just, now that he and Adrian were ...something, well, Eric could be forgiven for wondering. What with those clips he’d seen of Adrian and Martin laughing into each other’s mouths, hands all over. Right? Yeah, made total sense.
Unfortunately, Kojo disagreed.
“Mate.” He sidled up to Eric at a booth that sold wheels of local cheese, the lake’s expanse just beyond. “If you expect me to believe it’s casual, you may want to dial the focused murder stare down to, say, a seven in intensity.”
Eric tore his gaze away from where the other three were catching up at a second stall that sold glass jars filled with preserves, chutneys, and pickled vegetables. Kojo had already examined the offerings, his conversation with the vendor one of sweeping hand gestures to bridge the language gap.
“It’s not like that.” Eric tugged his coat sleeves down to prevent cold air from sneaking in between his jumper and gloves. “I just want to make sure I’m not getting into the middle of something. Wouldn’t be the first time I’m told things aren’t what they, in fact, are.”
Kojo sighed. “Not everyone’s like Lucas, you know?”
“In love with someone else and lying about it, you mean?” Ericexamined the faded photographs that showcased the farm from where the cheese originated.
“Yeah,” Kojo said. “That.”
“I guess.” When Eric glanced over again, he caught Matteo watching him with a strange tilt to his head. Matteo looked away almost immediately, an arm slung around Martin’s shoulders in an easy show of affection, one of Martin’s hands tucked into a pocket of Matteo’s winter jacket. They seemed sweet together, and nothing suggested that Adrian felt even a hint of awkwardness around them. Just then, he leaned forward to grasp both their shoulders, eyes crinkling with a laugh that came out in a visible cloud.
Eric turned away and let his gaze drift over the waterfront promenade. Traditional wooden houses made up the core of the town, tourist infrastructure mixed in with eighteenth-century remnants. Patches of blue showed between the clouds, a weak winter sun glistening on the lake.
He let Kojo pull him into choosing cheese for tonight’s dinner, the last meal before guests would flock back to the hotel for the days leading up to Christmas. Adrian insisted on picking up the tab because “this is the closest thing to a team-building event I can offer you lot, plus Matteo promised to take a look at the wiring on the top floor”.
“I’d have done that for free,” Matteo said. “No need to bribe me with cheese.”
“Good work deserves a great reward,” Adrian said, and Martin flashed a wide grin.
“I’m almost certain we used that line at some point.”
“The Ibizatrip.” Adrian grinned back. “The pool boy—what was his name again? He didn’t stick around for long.”
“Boss didn’t like his attitude.” Martin paused, then angled himself towards Matteo with an exaggeratedly sleazy wink. “Now you, on the other hand? I’ll happily reward you for your good work. I even promise I’ll still remember your name in the morning.”
“I’m flattered,” Matteo drawled, a smile hiding around the cornersof his eyes. He seemed unbothered by Martin and Adrian’s history, and maybe that was all the answer Eric really needed.
Not that heneededan answer. Just … as a figure of speech.
They moved on to a stall that sold mulled wine and took their steaming mugs down to the tiny port area, dormant at this time of year, boats hidden under protective covers. Somehow, Eric found himself lagging behind with Martin, the other three farther ahead while Martin had stopped to retie a shoe, asking Eric to hold his cup as he did so. Eric assumed it was deliberate—casual or not, Martin was the kind of guy who took an interest in his best mate’s lovers. As it turned out, Eric was only half-right.
Martin straightened and reclaimed his cup. After a glance at where the others were engrossed in some banter, he tilted his head at Eric. “So. I know who you are.”
Ah. Well, shit.
Eric took a slow sip of his mulled wine and nearly burned his tongue. “Um. What do you mean?”
