Page 2 of Amid Our Lines

“And you’re home late.”

Half eleven, according to the kitchen clock. Eric patted Kojo’s bare stomach in passing and went to inspect the contents of the frying pan. God, it smelled heavenly—no wonder given Eric’s dinner had been of the liquid kind, and he’d chased it down with a workout. Of sorts.

“You smell like sex,” Kojo informed him with a delicate wrinkle of his nose.

“It’s my new cologne. You like?”

“Fire your nose.”

“But I’m kind of attached to it.”

When Eric tried to sneak a mushroom right out of the pan, Kojo slapped his hand away and went to arrange the food on two plates that they took into the living room. Eric flicked the telly on to some rerun of a World Cup match—England against Belgium, the semifinal—and they ate the first couple of bites in silence.

“This isdelicious,” Eric said. “Is there… There’s something unusual in there—sherry?”

“You’re getting better at this.” Kojo nodded, then set down his fork and drew one foot up onto the sofa to face Eric. “So. I quit.”

“You quit what?” Eric hoped the answer was smoking. It was a nasty habit that Kojo had picked up because just about everyone in the hospitality industry considered cigarettes a legitimate excuse to take a five-minute break.

“My job.” Kojo said it lightly, as though it was a mere comment on the weather.

Eric put down his plate and muted the TV. “You quit yourjob?”

Granted, the work environment was terrible. The chef de cuisine was a perfectionist who would get angry if parsley wasn’t chopped to his exacting standards. He also had a certain penchant for comments that toed the line of racism. It was a Michelin-starred restaurant, though, and when Kojo had landed the job, he’d been enthusiastic about what it would do for his CV.

“Yup. Got fed up with being judged by the colour of my skin, so I found myself a new job. Threatened them with legal action if they didn’t let me go quietly—should’ve seen their faces. Fucking brilliant, man.”

Okay, that was … something. “You got a new job? Sincewhen?”

“Since this afternoon. Starting Friday.”

“That’s…” Eric leaned back, blinking. “In four days. So, where?”

“Switzerland.”

“Switzerland?!”

“Is it me, or is there an echo in here?”

“But—hold on a sec.” Eric raised a hand and dropped it again. “You only just moved back to London.”

Okay, so Kojo had returned about six months ago, after a one-year placement with a top restaurant in the French countryside. But thepointwas that life was better with Kojo around. Eric wasn’t prepared to give that up again so soon.

“Eh.” Kojo shrugged. “I’m fed up with this place. Perpetual grey skies and endless queues—give me some sun and a proper farmers’ market!”

Kojo wasn’t wrong, not that Eric would admit as much. “Switzerland is bloodycoldin winter!”

“You better pack some warm clothes, then. Ski gear, too.”

“What?”

Kojo’s grin was sharp, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re coming with me. They’re looking forward to a pair of extra hands.”

Uh.

“I’m coming with you?”

“Again with the echo in here. You should really get that checked out, especially if you decide to rent out the place while you’re gone.”

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