Hilliard patted his leg and called Henrietta inside as well, giving the half-full basket of damp laundry a doleful glance as he shut the door behind them. It could wait for the sake of being a good host.
He returned to the living room and found Ms. Dupree where he’d left her, sipping at her drink and staring at the oil painting over the fireplace. It was a scene that reminded him of home. Pastel buildings on a wide city street; Spanish moss draped from a massive oak tree in the foreground. Occasionally it made him miss his family, but more often than not, it just gave his magic a moment to warm in his heart over a glimpse of his boyhood in Charleston.
Hilliard sat in his usual spot on the sofa and crossed one knee over the other.
“Ms. Dupree, I must admit that you look familiar, but I cannot place where I know you from,” he said with a friendly smile.
“I write for The Stargazer,” she told him plainly. He recalled the notepad he’d seen her holding at the bar. His magic cooled a bit at the thought of what Monty might’ve told her had he not showed up when he did that night. He’d never read the tabloid magazine himself, but it had a reputation for being candid and often very revealing of the celebrities that graced its pages.
“Ah, of course,” he said with a single nod. “Montgomery will be out in a moment. He’s just freshening up.”
Ms. Dupree set her glass down noisily on the coaster and turned her attention on him. “So how should I refer to you in the article? His partner? Spouse? Husband? I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”
Hilliard’s chest tightened so fast that he nearly had to gasp for his next breath. He slid his left hand from the top of his thigh and tucked it between his leg and the sofa cushion as subtly as he could.
“Montgomery and I are dear friends. We’ve been close for several years now.” He used Monty’s own word next for consistency. “This arrangement is simply to help him focus on himself and his work for a little while.”
Her expression turned skeptical. “So you’re not together?”
“As I said, we’re just friends.”
Ms. Dupree hummed and fished her notepad out of the rather large handbag she’d brought with her and began scratching away at it with a stubby pencil. “I wish I had a friend who would come rescue me from the bar after a hard day. By the way you two were looking at one another that night, I could’ve sworn you were lovers.” She paused in her writing to shoot him another glance.
“Friends,” Hilliard said firmly. He’d never hated the word more in his life.
When Monty finally strode into the room, he was freshly showered and dressed in a casual set of striped linen trousers, white shirt, and tie. The light colors against his sun-kissed skin made him look exactly like the movie star he knew he was.
“Ms. Dupree, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with sincerity, shaking her hand before he sat down. Hilliard wondered if their guest noticed as quickly as he did that Monty chose the other end of the loveseat rather than the open chair.
“No trouble at all,” Ms. Dupree said. “Please, call me Joan. Mr. Burke was just telling me about your relationship status.”
The hint of amusement in her last two words didn’t go unnoticed by either man. Monty’s eyes cut to Hilliard before he laughed a little too tightly and relaxed into his seat, one arm stretched along the back.
“Has Hilliard already been telling you about my unending string of failed romantic endeavors?”
“That seems unlikely for a man as charming as you are,” Joan said, already writing on her notepad again. “Are you not interested in relationships?”
“I am,” Monty shrugged. “I just never seem to find myself in one for very long.”
Hilliard had watched him go through several relationships over the years. The most recent one ended nearly six months earlier, which was about twice as long as they’d actually been together. Monty had claimed it was because he was too busy to go steady with anyone at the time, but Hilliard guessed that it ended for the same reason all the others did: he got bored.
Joan went on. “What do you look for in a partner?”
“Oh, uh.” Monty paused. “I thought this interview was going to be about who I am.”
“It is. Everyone wants Montgomery Kincaid. With your magic and good looks, you could have your pick of the town. Hell, you could have your pick of the entire country. My readers already know that. But what does the man behind all the charm want?”
Monty was silent for a long moment.
“Montgomery likes someone who can keep up with his active lifestyle,” Hilliard supplied. “He likes to swim and go running on occasion. But he also likes to sleep in late when he’s not working, so he needs someone who will make his favorite breakfast to draw him out of bed.”
“What’s your favorite breakfast?” Joan asked.
“Pancakes with blueberries,” Hilliard told her with confidence.
The reporter pointed her pencil at Monty. “I’m asking Mr. Kincaid.”
“Pancakes with blueberries,” Monty echoed.
