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“Thank you for coming,” Adrian said as they lined up near a rack that invited impulse buys: miniature flashlights, knock-off versions of the original Swiss Army Knife, and magazines that promised scandals and home improvement tips from celebrities. Eric picked up a German gossip rag, the cover showing a strikingly handsome guy with messy blond hair, his leather jacket a fashion statement. A smaller picture showed him laughing with another guy.
“What does it say?” Eric asked, showing it to Adrian.
“The teaser?” Adrian skimmed it. “Speculation about his sexuality and relationship status. That’s the British guy, right?”
“Max Fina, yeah.” A smile tugged at the corners of Eric’s mouth, and Adrian considered kissing it right off him. This was a hardware store, though, and a couple of macho types in their immediate vicinity came with the territory.
So instead, Adrian let their elbows brush as if by accident. “You a fan?”
“He’s got a few catchy songs.” Eric sounded reluctantly admiring.
“Like thatCocktail Camouflageone.” Adrian pursed his mouth. “I guess being in the business means you listen to music differently. You’d notice different aspects.”
Eric’s response got stalled when they reached the cashier, anaspiring punk rocker in her mid-forties. Adrian was relieved that he didn’t know her—he’d rather not have the rumour mill latch onto how the owner of the Gletscherhaus was shopping for fungicides, thanks. They bagged their purchases, then found the car outside. Adrian got behind the wheel, Eric slid into the passenger seat, and after flicking on the radio, they pulled out onto a drab road in what counted as Interlaken’s small industrial district.
Eric leaned back in his seat. “You said the low seasons can be tough, right? Filling rooms and all.” His tone was strangely neutral, and Adrian glanced at his profile before he replied.
“Yeah, it’s always been like that—early spring, autumn, and early winter in particular. The valley can get foggy, so it’s not the most appealing for guests even with lower prices.” He merged into a roundabout, a train rumbling by next to them. “Most mountain hotels struggle with the shoulder seasons unless they have a specific selling point, like an extensive spa. And some well-known places get tourist interest year-round. Take Zermatt, for example—they do have a low season, but it’s at a different level because the view of the Matterhorn is just that famous.”
Eric shifted. “You’ve upped the prices for new bookings, right?”
“Yeah.” Adrian shot Eric another look. “Why?”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
Eric’s fingers tapped to the beat of some indie pop song. “Ways to make people sit up and pay attention.”
“Promises of free beer and no-risk investments with unbelievable returns?” Adrian asked.
Eric’s face relaxed slightly. “Among other things, yes.”
“Look, it’s not…” Adrian paused briefly, considering, and chose the road that would take them along the borders of the lake. It was a slightly longer drive than the highway, but the view was nicer. “When I said I can’t afford a renovation… I should be able to get a bank loan. And maybe it’s not even that bad.”
He hoped it sounded more certain than he felt. It wasn’t a lie—their finances should be solid enough to offer a bank some form ofreassurance, and he’d be able to deduct the costs of the renovation from their taxes. But interest rates had risen lately, a logical companion to inflation affecting energy and supplier prices. Depending on how much of the hotel’s structure he’d have to replace, it could easily run into the tens of thousands, maybe more.
Whatever notions he’d had about building premium rooms and attracting corporate events? Yeah, better file those under ‘wishful thinking’.
“How much do you think you’ll need?” Eric asked softly.
“I don’t know.” Adrian inhaled and directed his attention at the lake. Mist rose from the deep, inky expanse of unfrozen water, thin skirts of ice fringing the edges. “A few thousand if I’m lucky. Quite possibly more than a hundred thousand if I’m not.”
“That’s Swiss Francs, right? About the same in US dollars?”
“Roughly, yeah. Not sure where the pound is at these days.”
Eric was silent for a moment. “Is there a chance you could combine this with upgrading the top floor, like you were planning?”
Adrian wasn’t sure why he damn near burst into tears at the question. God, he needed to get it together—this wasn’t the end of the Gletscherhaus, just a little setback.
“Probably not.” He swallowed against the sting behind his eyes. “I mean …maybe. If the dry rot is super localised and it only takes a few thousand to fix it. Anything substantial, though? I think most banks would like to see some backup funds on my side before they agreed to a substantial loan. Plus, fixing the damage is something I can deduct from taxes. An upgrade is different, and if it’s a mix of both… I’m not sure about the tax implications of that.”
Again, Eric was silent. The woollen light, the sky a muted palette of greys, sapped his skin of colour. “You’ll find a way,” he said then. “You’re smart, Adrian. You’re smart and youcare. You’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe.” Adrian bit down on the inside of his cheek, the sharp bite of pain a welcome distraction. “Not how I wanted to finish off the year, you know? With my hotel at risk of going belly up, and you almost walking away from me.”
Adrian hadn’t meant to imply that both things would hit him equally hard. Too fuckingmuch.
