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“Hey.” Eric tipped his head to brush a kiss against Adrian’s jaw. “Just so we’re clear—with first impressions, I mean. You’re better than that. Like. You’re so much more than some creep’s dirty fantasy.”
“Am I?” Adrian’s voice was tinged with amusement, but now that Eric knew him, he caught the hint of vulnerability underneath. “You saying I’m not hot?”
Eric didn’t fight his smile. “You know you’re hot.”Babe. He almost said it, roped it back in at the last moment. “That’s just the icing on the cake, though.”
Something flickered in Adrian’s eyes—flattered, yeah, but unconvinced. Before Eric could make his case and accidentally say too much, Adrian bridged the gap between them for another kiss.
Just as well. Actions, wasn’t it? And time—time to chip away at Adrian’s misconceptions about himself.
A bridge built of kisses, delicate as moth wings.
Eric tucked the line away for another day. Tomorrow, maybe, or next month. No rush at all.
Christmas week had donea real number on their liquid inventory.Excellent.
Adrian peered at the dwindling stock on the basement shelves, a single light bulb that hung from the ceiling shedding its dim glow over the scene. Beside him, Martin made a note on an Excel sheet they’d printed out—down to two bottles of Eiger Gin, distilled in nearby Grindelwald. “Ten more?” he asked, and Adrian nodded.
“Yeah. And three of the Ginluz.”
“Done.” Martin’s pen tapped the paper with the decisive finality of a feat well-accomplished before he nudged the side of Adrian’s foot. “So, how are things?”
Adrian snorted. “Be less specific, please.”
“Made it official yet?” Martin asked, fixing Adrian with a steady look that made it much more difficult to deflect to something innocuous.
“I mean, well.” Adrian picked up a bottle of coffee liquor, mostly for something to do with his hands. “Why ruin a good thing by jumping to define it? Or, you know … talking about it, for that matter.”
“Your British is showing,” Martin told him.
“Look.” Adrian set the bottle back down and drew a breath, the air dense with the mingled scents of old bricks and the wines they kept on the other side of the room. “There’s no point, is there? He’s only here for the season, and he’s not looking for anything serious. That was our deal.”
“Well, it’s a stupid deal.” Martin used his pen to poke Adrian’s chest. “Renegotiate. You studied business, didn’t you?”
“Hardly the stuff of Business Negotiation 101.”
“Wuss.”
Adrian tried for a grin. “Is that how you talk to your superiors?”
“If need be.” Martin countered Adrian’s attempt at humour with a narrow-eyed stare. “Okay, so. I’ll dig deep here for a second, okay? And then we can pretend this never happened.”
That was … ominous. Last time Martin had got truly serious, it was because he’d heard from an old friend back home that his dad had died.
Adrian cleared his throat, the sound dampened by brick walls and wooden beams. “Shoot.”
“Do you think…” Martin hesitated. “Is there a chance you just aren’t sure whether a guy will hang around long-term? Especially once you’re no longer quite this”—a head-to-toe gesture indicated Adrian’s general being—“physically appealing?”
Bloody hell.
“That’s, uh.” Adrian shook his head and aimed for a confident tone. “I mean, no. I’m not … you know. I don’t worry about that.”
Right, yeah. Nailed it.
The line of Martin’s mouth thinned. Slowly, carefully, he set the sheet down on a shelf and placed the pen on top of it, then turned back to face Adrian. “So, here’s something I wasn’t planning to tell you, ever. But I think maybe you need to hear it.” The steady way he held Adrian’s gaze felt deliberate. “When I followed you here? I wassoin love with you. Stupid with it, pretty much. Took me a year to get over you.”
Hang on.
No, that wasn’t—joking. Martin wasjoking.
