from her end of the line, along with the distant murmur of strangers’ conversations. “You need to go, don’t you? Isn’t it time for another lesson?”
Past time, actually. By a minute.
“Yeah. I should probably go.” He bent down to pick up his racket. “But you’ll let me know when you’re done with dinner, like we planned?”
“I will.” The simple sentence was warm. Sweet. A caress. “See you tonight.”
“See you tonight. Take care of yourself, älskling.”
Then the call was over, and he placed his phone back in his bag and strode over to his clients. Smiled at them and apologized. Started his lesson.
All the while he made plans. New ones.
Ones that had absolutely nothing to do with his body.
The door to the spa entrance closed behind Lucas with a muffled whoosh. Suddenly, he was breathing scented air, herbal and pleasantly woodsy, as his eyes adjusted to the decreased light in the expansive space. Despite the candles burning in the enormous stone fireplace, various recessed light fixtures, and the large picture window behind the check-in counter, the wood-paneled walls kept the area surprisingly dim.
A half-dozen people—all clad in snowy-white robes, all seated in cushioned, solid-wood couches and chairs—glanced up at him. He nodded at them, and then took stock of his surroundings, searching for what he needed or help getting it.
Wooden racks of beautifully packaged merchandise. Framed photos of the Matterhorn and other snowy peaks against vivid blue skies. Delicate paintings of edelweiss and asters.
And piped in through hidden speakers, almost too low to hear, was that…?
Yes. Yes, indeed. It was.
Although no one would call him an expert identifier of musical instruments, he remembered the commercials of his early youth. This particular sound he associated quite strongly with Swiss herbal cough drops and lederhosen-clad men on mountaintops, rather than tropical beaches.
The resort’s island only possessed one hill, but apparently that hill was alive with the sound of music. Alphorn music, to be precise. Also yodeling.
Weird. Oddly charming, but weird.
Behind the counter stood two of his dirndl-clad colleagues, one of them a familiar sight. Heather, a woman roughly his age who often attended gatherings at Brendan’s mainland apartment, was stationed behind the computer. Standing beside her was an unfamiliar woman, slightly older than Heather, her pale skin poreless, her tawny hair tucked into a braided crown, frowning in concentration as she ticked items off a printed list. Fiona, the spa manager, according to the engraved name badge pinned to her bodice.
“Lucas.” Heather looked up from her computer with a bright, professional smile, her warm brown skin smooth and glowing and impeccably accented by discreet makeup. “How may I help you today? Are you here to book a peel?”
A peel? Like a banana peel? Did this have something to do with the apple-scented oil for sale on the counter?
“Or an Extreme Edelweiss Microdermabrasion session?” Her arched eyebrows rose in query. “You can reserve a series of sessions at a slight savings, which can be used along with your employee discount. We actually have a last-minute cancellation for this evening, if you’d like.”
Ah. That kind of peel.
“Uh, no.” He scrubbed a hand over his bristly, sun-damaged cheek. “That’s not why I’m here.”
She appeared to be staring at his nose and forehead, her own brow creased. “We also have a line of Cocoa Corrective repair masks with exclusive Toblerone—”
“Thank you, Heather,” he interrupted. “But I don’t need anything for my face. I asked Brendan and Pat whether the resort sold heating pads or hot water bottles anywhere, and they thought the spa might have something I could use.”
“Oh.” After one last glance at his forehead, Heather heaved an almost imperceptible sigh and let it go. “We don’t have heating pads or hot water bottles, but we do offer heatable aromatherapy booties that could work. Our microwaveable Alpine Aromatherapy eye masks might suffice too, depending on how much area you want to cover.”
“Perfect.” He smiled at her, pleased. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“They’re in the far left corner. Second shelf from the top. Do you want me to show you?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“If you have any trouble finding them, just let me know.” Another entirely professional smile, almost blinding in its shine. “And if you change your mind, I’d be delighted to help you book an appointment. We have a variety of special packages available this week.”
Fiona left for the other end of the spa’s welcome area, her list still clutched in her hand, and disappeared through a semi-hidden doorway.
They both watched her