Monty nodded, grateful for the sympathy, even if Morgan was only touching on a small part of why the change hurt so much. He looked at the dance floor and they stood in silence for a few moments, watching the dancers bounce to the rhythm.
The drink and quiet companionship were working well to soothe some of Monty’s nerves. He gently eased his magic up a bit and turned to Morgan again. “It may be a far cry from the bar where we met, but a dance floor is a dance floor in any state. Care to hoof it with me?”
Morgan gave him a friendly smile. “Sure.”
Monty grinned, taking the other man’s hand and leading him to the dance floor. He slid his arm around Morgan’s waist, allowing the music and the alcohol and his magic to buoy his mood.
Dancing with Morgan was just as thrilling as he’d remembered. The other man moved effortlessly to the beat, his whole demeanor transforming with his evident joy. As Monty danced alongside him, he couldn’t take his focus off his partner’s face. Morgan’s eyes were bright and his smile was wide. Monty had to catch his breath from the way his stomach fluttered at the sight. His magic surged within him, desperate to please. They danced for three songs before Monty had to call it quits.
He led his partner back to where he’d found him.
“You really are a great dancer,” Morgan said, sounding only a little winded from their exercise.
“I could say the same,” Monty said smoothly. He offered Morgan his most dazzling smile, feeling his magic give the expression a bit more oomph.
Morgan blinked at him a little and then turned back to the dance floor. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for the dance. Well, dances. It really helped to calm my nerves. I feel so out of my element here.”
“Happy to help.” Monty leaned close to the other man’s ear and said in a soft voice, “I know a few other tips to help with that, if you’d like.”
“Oh?”
Monty reached out with his magic to gauge the other man’s interest and was met with curiosity. His arm slid back around Morgan’s waist, almost of its own accord, and he pulled the other man close. But just as he bent his head to kiss him, Morgan’s hand landed on his chest, and with a gentle firmness that surprised him, Monty was pushed away.
Chapter 8
Hilliard
Hilliard had been to the Powell estate countless times for parties just like this one, everyone dressed in their dazzling gowns or sleek tuxedos and dripping with diamonds and gossip. It was a spectacle, to be sure, but Hilliard knew it was best to play his part. So rather than spending a quiet Thursday night at home reading or working on a puzzle like he would’ve preferred to do, he made small talk with celebrities and nursed a single cocktail until he finally located the lady of the house.
“Taffy,” he said with a smile, “there you are, gorgeous.”
The Powells’ blush pink cockatoo bobbed her head in his direction and let out a squawk. She was perched on a stand made of gold in a somewhat quiet room and deserved nothing less. It took no coaxing for her to step up onto the sleeve of his coat and begin chattering away in a surprisingly good imitation of the indistinguishable sound of a hundred people talking politely all at once. She stretched toward the rim of his glass with her beak and he moved it out of her reach.
“Ah ah,” he scolded gently. “A fine old gal like you should stick to water on such a busy evening.” Mr. Powell had told him once that Taffy was nearly fifty. “You wouldn’t want to lose your inhibitions and bite somebody.”
The bird raised her crest feathers with a look of surprise that made Hilliard laugh.
“I thought I heard that sweet Southern drawl.”
Hilliard turned to find Edie in an elegant evening dress the color of dark wine. Cal was close behind her looking put together as always, but even the padded shoulders of his fancy getup couldn’t hide the slump of exhaustion in his posture. He was several days into dance rehearsals for the musical and it was starting to show.
“How did the shorts work out for you?” Hilliard asked, carefully returning Taffy to her perch. Cal had sought his advice on what style might work best for movement and he’d suggested several, all of which Cal had found objectionable.
Cal let out a weary moan. “I am not in the mood to talk about shorts.”
“Mmm,” Edie cut in with interest as she kissed Hilliard’s cheek, now that he was free of his feathered friend. “Is that what we’re calling him? I do love a good pet name, and especially one so fitting. You could tuck that boy in a handbag.”
“Edie,” Cal warned halfheartedly.
Her eyes went big and innocent like they always did when she was trying to get away with something. It almost always worked.
“What? He’s the talk of the town after Joan’s interview.” She pursed her painted lips and gave Cal a sideways glance. “Somebody is going to snatch him up, is all I’m saying.”
“Oh, is that all?” Cal asked flatly, following it with a sip of the drink in his hand.
“Go easy on him,” Hilliard said with a fair mix of sincerity and sarcasm. He reached out to put a supportive hand on Cal’s arm. “Haven’t you heard?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “He’s still recovering from his last high-profile relationship.”
With anyone else, it might’ve been too soon, too raw. But for Cal and Edie, it was already a thing of the past; something they could look back on and laugh about as one step on the path of their illustrious careers. They exchanged knowing half-smiles and then Edie nudged Cal with her elbow.
