Page 21 of Amid Our Lines

“Sadly, yes. Not sure how he thought I wouldn’t notice during the interview.”

“An unhealthy sense of self-esteem?” Kojo suggested.

“Something like that.” Adrian’s focus returned to Eric. “Anyway. The point is, if you’re even half as good as I think you are, then people won’t mind at all. Go ahead.”

It had been a while since Eric had played in front of people other than Kojo. His studies had required it, of course, but his discomfort with being the centre of everyone’s attention was one of the reasonswhy he’d never seen himself actually performing the songs he wrote. With most people tucked out of sight in the next room, this wasn’t so bad as long as he ignored Adrian’s gaze on him.

He lightly rested his fingers on the keys, taking a moment to ground himself. With history wafting through every corner of this hotel, it felt like a place for classical pieces—Chopin and Satie, music that someone else might have played on this very piano decades ago.

Chopin’sDouble Thirds Étudehad been the showpiece at his graduation recital. He still knew it by heart, an anchor he kept coming back to when a new song wasn’t working and he needed to reset his brain. The piece was flashy but beautiful, its intensity suited to the impressive mountainscape outside. Itfit—he wasn’t showing off.

Straight posture, easy confidence. You’ve got this.

He reminded himself this wasn’t a concert, just a way to introduce himself to this stunning instrument that had seen so much. Chances were that most guests in the next room would hardly even pause in their conversations. Briefly, he glanced up to find Adrian and Monika watching him, waiting, while Kojo wore a quietly proud smile.

Begin when you’re ready.

Moving his fingers into their familiar positions, Eric drew a breath and started playing.

Adrian didn’t have muchof an ear for music.

Oh, he enjoyed it. He’d been raised on weekly piano concerts by old Paul, from crawling around the man’s feet when he’d been little, to pretending he was too cool for nostalgic jazz standards when he’d been a bratty teenager. But he had no talent to speak of himself and was just as likely to enjoy a cheesy pop song as he was to listen to a classical piece.

Even so, he could tell that Eric was good. Very good, possibly even better than Paul. He didn’t play with the old man’s dramatic flair, but the rapid dance of his fingers on the keys was mesmerising in itself. The piece wasn’t long, a couple of minutes or so, a fast, rich successionof notes that seemed designed to test a player’s skill. Once Eric’s hands stilled, a smattering of applause from the common area prompted Adrian to clap too, and Eric bowed his head with a small, pleased smile.

Wow, he was adorable. Good thing that had never been Adrian’s kryptonite, or he might have been in trouble.

“You’regood,” Monika said with quiet emphasis. “Kojo mentioned you write songs?”

Before Eric could answer, Mr Ferguson stuck his head into the room. “That was excellent, lad—what a treat! Tell me there’s more where this came from?”

“Thank you.” Eric hesitated. “I’ve got a few more that I know by heart, yes.” He glanced at Adrian. “If it won’t be too disruptive for people who want to talk or read?”

“Not at all,” Adrian jumped in. “I mentioned that we used to have live piano every Saturday, didn’t I? Always very popular. You’re just continuing a tradition.”

“Well.” Mr Ferguson made a grand gesture. “What are you waiting for?”

“Okay then.” Eric nodded. It was an odd moment to notice that he had rather long, thick lashes, but that was just the way Adrian’s brain worked. After a second’s consideration, Eric put his hands back on the keys, everything about him going still for a moment before he launched into another piece.

Adrian stood listening for another minute before he quietly went to help Martin. With a good number of guests slotted for departure tomorrow, many were planning to sleep in rather than hit the slopes for only half the day. It made for good bar business.

While Martin mixed and Adrian served, their rhythm perfected by years of working together, Eric segued from another classical piece to jazz, then an instrumental version of a song Adrian vaguely recognised from the radio. Monika dropped by to say goodbye, and Kojo wandered in not long after, grabbed a book from one of the shelves, and settled in for a read.

“Feels like when Paul used to play, doesn’t it?” Martin asked as hemixed a round of drinks for a group of four friends who’d arrived on Wednesday and would leave tomorrow, their third time at the Gletscherhaus in as many years.

“A bit, yeah.” Adrian leaned his hip against the bar, the gentle notes of a jazz standard floating in from the dining room. It was nice—complementing the quiet buzz of conversations that usually filled the space, no sound system installed as that would have contradicted the digital detox vibe they strove to convey.

“Could ask Eric if he’s fine with playing each Saturday?” Martin suggested. “If you put it on the website, it might draw a few more guests during the low season.”

Strictly speaking, this was low season—early December typically saw the hotel half-full. They’d lucked out with the early snowfall although the forecast predicted a rise in temperatures come Monday. Accordingly, their bookings saw a significant drop until Christmas week.

Normal. Adrian wasn’t going to worry about it.

“I’d rather not put it on the website until I’m sure he’ll last until spring,” he told Martin.

“I’ve got a good feeling.”

“You said that already.”

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