Ibiza on Ice by Gillian St. Kevern

Author:Gillian St. Kevern [Kevern, Gillian St.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: MM, Contemporary, Short Stories
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 32971964
Publisher: NineStar Press
Published: 2016-12-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Time to get up.” Timo's heavy hand rattled the wooden boards Aston slept on.

He sat up, blinking. “It’s morning?”

“Trouble waking up?” Timo looked down at him. There were shadows around his eyes, and he looked somewhat paler than last night, but he still smirked. “We warned you about Finnish alcohol.”

Aston kicked aside his blankets and stood. “What are you talking about? I feel fine.” He looked around. “I was just confused. It seemed really dark out.”

“It is too early,” Henrik pleaded, “to be this cheerful.” He was sipping a bottle of water, looking decidedly worse for wear.

As Aston scanned the group, he noticed a few other signs of hangovers. Gunnar popped a headache pill, and Janne offered Berocca to the Germans. “Do I smell coffee? Perfect.” He began to pull on his clothes.

Timo made a space for him at the table―roughly hewn pine, like everything else in the cabin―with grudging respect. “I admit―I did not think you would be so well this morning.”

“Score one for club life.” Aston reached eagerly for the cup of thick, dark coffee placed in front of him. “Tell you what. If you’re ever in London and fancy a night out, I’ll show you round.”

Breakfast was a choice of oats, made by Janne in a big pot slung over the fire, or slices of rye bread, carved as you would carve firewood. The French skiers topped their porridge with yoghurt and crimson-coloured berries Aston was encouraged to try.

“Lingonberries. Hard to find anywhere else.”

“You have been working on that slice of bread a while now.” Niklas leaned back in his chair to watch Aston draw back the curtains and peek out the window. “How are you finding it?”

“By bread, did you actually mean sandpaper? I can feel my teeth being filed away.” Aston massaged his jaw. “I’m going to wind up a vampire.”

“Now there is a variation on a myth…”

“I’ve always wondered why Dracula didn’t move up here.” Timo, as if to spite Aston, put an entire piece of bread into his mouth. The remainder of his sentence was muffled. “When you think about it, the Polar Twilight is vampire paradise.”

“Polar Twilight?” Aston asked.

“You’re looking at it.” Niklas waved to the window. “We are in the Arctic Circle. So in the winter night lasts into daytime.”

“There’s no sun? What―at all?”

“There’s twilight. You’ll see for yourself.”

“But how do we see to ski?”

“All you will have to do is follow our trail.” Timo smirked.

“Speaking of skiing,” Janne motioned Aston to follow him. “I don’t know what to do about your boots.”

They walked through the narrow kitchen, into a third room, clearly designed for drying outdoor clothes. The group’s skis, boots and snowsuits were spread around, soaking up the heat channelled into the room.

“What do you mean boots? I have boots.”

“Skiing boots.” Janne motioned to a pair of skis and poles stacked in the corner. “They lock into the skis. Ordinary boots won’t do. I have all Mike’s equipment here―skis, poles, coat and pants. You should be able to fit those, no problem.

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