Page 22 of Amid Our Lines

“Still holds true.” Martin grinned. “Talked to Kojo while you were off with Eric—really fun bloke, knows how to hold his liquor.”

“Is that your key criterion for being a fun bloke?”

“Criterion?” Martin snorted. “Woke up on the fancy side of the bed, huh? Also, someone being able to hold their liquor used to be acriterionfor you too.”

Martin wasn’t wrong—they’d excelled at drinking their own body weight in alcohol, especially on ErosElite’s dime when they weren’t filming the next day. Because filming on a hangover? Exceedingly painful for all those involved, to the point where the boss had put rules in place.

“Yep,” Adrian said. “And then I grew up.”

“Adulthood has changed you, man.” Martin’s tone implied it was a sad and grave matter that kept him up at night.

“Neverland loses its shine once you’ve got a hotel to run.” Adrian cracked a grin. “Also, you’re the one who’s all settled down now. Grocery shopping and a cuddle, isn’t that what you and Matteo get up to these days?”

Martin’s mouth curled into a sardonic smile. “At least I still have sex.”

Touché.

“I do too.”

“Your right hand doesn’t count.”

“And how do you know it’s my right one?”

“Been there, seen that,” Martin said, and right, Adrian had served that up on a silver platter.

“Fair point,” he allowed. After arranging the glasses on a tray, he took them over to the group of four. They roped him into a discussion about trail running in summer, and Adrian was happy to share tips, eighty percent certain that one of the guys was flirting with him. He left the table with a promise that the group would be back in June. Good.

On his way back to Martin, he collected two more orders and stoked the fire. He arrived just in time to catch his parents emerging from the dining room. It explained why the piano had fallen silent for a couple of minutes, only now resuming with a gentle, lullaby-like classical piece.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Mum commented.

“Nice to see someone actually play that piano again,” Dad agreed in his low, familiar drawl. Even years of speaking English with Adrian’s mum hadn’t been able to erase his light tinge of a Swiss German accent. “Quite a talented boy.”

Uh-oh.

When Adrian had returned from Berlin with Martin in tow, his parents had been rather unsubtle about encouraging a romantic relationship between them—remarks about what a wonderful night it was for stargazing, why not take a walk?Take a nice bottle of wine, loves.Adrian didn’t begrudge his parents for meddling since they meantwell, only wanted for him what they’d found themselves. They’d eventually given up when Martin had met Matteo.

By now, Mum and Dad were aware that Eric and Kojo weren’t a couple, and that Eric, ah … played both the field and the court, so to speak. Better nip this in the bud.

“Very talented.” Adrian nodded as he handed two slips with orders to Martin. “I can definitely see how London is a great place for someone like him to build his career.”

“Why don’t you bring him some water?” Mum asked. “Or a glass of wine?”

All right, so much for Adrian’s attempt at taking this train onto a different track—whether he was fifteen or nearly thirty, he’d always be his parents’ son. He ignored Martin’s smirk as he decided to delay this particular discussion by means of temporary acquiescence. “Sure. I’ll check if he wants anything.”

“He seems like the kind of guy who’s too polite to ask for what he wants.” Martin’s tone was cheerfully innocent. “Maybe give him something you know he’ll enjoy.”

Et tu, Martin?

“What—like Chambord, vodka, and pineapple juice?” Adrian asked, straightfaced. His parents wouldn’t recognise it as the ingredients for a French Kiss cocktail, but Martin would.

“Eh. More something with coconut rum and cream, Ginger Bitter, a hint of lemon,” Martin volleyed back—Sex on a Snowbank. Oh, he thought he was so clever, didn’t he?

“I get the feeling there’s a subtext we’re missing,” Dad told Mum, and Adrian chose to hightail it out of there before Martin enlightened them—because Martin would, and they’d think it was funny.

Eric had opted for another piano version of some pop song with a sweet, slightly aching melody. On the threshold, Adrian paused for a second. It could be a scene from a black-and-white film—an old, grand room with high ceilings, the warm glow of antique lamps, and a guy with movie-star good looks alone at the piano, hands dancing over the keys.

Adrian drew closer on quiet feet so as not to interrupt, waitinguntil Eric’s fingers stilled before he stepped into his field of vision. Eric blinked, his smile delayed by a beat. “Hey. Time for me to wrap it up?”

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