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“Except one lands you in prison.”
“Fair point.” Adrian aimed for a light tone and hoped he succeeded. “You’re too pretty for prison, so that’s off the table.”
“Should I be flattered?” Eric asked, a smile tucked into his voice.
“You should be,” Adrian told him. He let their fingers brush as he passed, the fleeting contact sending a spark of warmth up his spine. It faded quickly, the weight of the day pressing down on him again, so he turned away to hide his face.
Once they’d set up dinner, he returned to the reception desk, alternating between paperwork, check-ins, and bouts of research thatleft his hands shaking with a constant, nauseating pressure in his stomach that wouldn’t let up.
He sleep-walked his way through dinner service—poured wines, asked guests about their days, and smiled and nodded in all the right places. At least he hoped so. After dinner, it was wash, rinse, repeat for the bar, dimly aware that Eric went upstairs at some point. A desperate part of Adrian wanted nothing more than to follow. He dragged his attention back to a group of skiers who were on their second bottle of wine for four, and needed a moment to remember what they’d asked him.
Off-piste runs. Right.
Smile.
Somehow, he did. And somehow, he made it through the next hour, and the one after that. The last few guests scattered shortly after ten, and then all that was left was to clean up the space. It was … doable. One thing at a time. Dirty glasses and sticky tables, just like every other night.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Adrian flinched and realised he’d stilled after wiping down a table, fingers clenching a damp cloth. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Martin staring at him with narrowed eyes.
“I,” Adrian started and had no idea how to continue. He shrugged and looked away.
“Mate.” Martin paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “You’ve been off all evening. Like, remember when you made money as an actor? Because I do, and you did a better job back then than you do now. Is it because of what we talked about?”
Eric. Right—was it really just this morning that Martin had shoved Adrian out of his comfort zone? Yeah. And then Georg had arrived a few hours later, and everything had gone to shit.
“No.” Adrian felt like his voice had been dragged through gravel. “Not really. It’s been a week, you know?”
Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s Tuesday.”
“Like I said, it’s been a week.”
“Talk to me.” Martin didn’t sound like he’d take no for an answer,and God, it was—just, Adrian needed to tellsomeone. It wasn’t fair to dump this on Martin, but also, Martin would kick some arse if Adrian ever voiced that thought.
Adrian carried the cloth over to the bar and gave it a thorough rinse in the sink. He didn’t look at Martin when he said, “Georg dropped by earlier.”
“Yeah, ran into him when he arrived.” Martin collected a couple of empty glasses and joined Adrian behind the bar. “His English is getting better.”
House sponge.Fuck. It was funny because it could ruin them.
“I guess, yeah.” Adrian leaned against the sink and closed his eyes. “He found evidence of dry rot, Martin. In the attic.”
“Dry rot?” Martin asked softly.
“It’s a type of fungus. Extracts moisture from wood, which can make it decay.” Adrian had done his research. More than that—he’d managed to sweet-talk the Bern-based building specialist into clearing his schedule for an entire day next week to take stock of the problem. Somehow, it didn’t make Adrian feel anywhere near as in control as he’d hoped. “Depending on how bad it is, it can threaten the structure of a whole building.”
“Bloody hell.” Martin fell silent for a second. “Can we torch the thing? Let’s take a fucking flamethrower to it.”
“Wood,” Adrian said weakly.
“Right.” Martin waved one hand in a vague arch. “Chemicals, then. Bleach.Something.”
“Fungicides.” Adrian cleared his throat, but it didn’t help with the tightness. “Doesn’t fix how maybe some of the wood is … you know. About to collapse over our heads. Maybe.”
Martin took half a step back. “Jesus. Is that what Georg said?”
“No. Just … no way of knowing how bad it is until the expert gets here. If I’m lucky, it hasn’t spread much yet.”
