“Yes, I think you have,” Hilliard agreed with a single, satisfied nod.
Monty ordered them both a French 75. The bartender poured his shaken blend of gin, lemon juice, and sugar into a flute before topping it with champagne–the perfect golden color to match the evening.
After wandering by the silent auction tables to see how high the bid was on a poster for Monty’s latest film that he and his co-star had signed, they found a relatively quiet place to sit on an upholstered bench together, closer than was strictly necessary given the length, but neither of them moved away.
“Was your table conversation as horrible as mine was?” Monty asked.
“It wasn’t so bad,” Hilliard said, crossing one knee over the other. “Someone inquired about your interview in The Stargazer. Apparently Ms. Dupree is very good at her job.”
“How so?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Hilliard hedged, now that he had Monty’s full attention. “But it sounds like you’ve been depicted in a way that is very inspiring to others.”
Monty made a face. “Inspiring?”
“It seems that we’re setting the example of what it looks like to share domesticity with a friend, rather than with a romantic partner.”
Monty was quiet as he seemed to give this some thought.
“Huh,” he said finally. “Must’ve been the wrong guy. I’m not sure I’ve ever set a good example of anything before.”
Hilliard smacked him gently with the back of his hand. They exchanged a grin.
“I take it you haven’t read it yet either, then?”
Monty shook his head. “I’ll have to pick up a copy tomorrow. We can read it together over brunch.”
It was Hilliard’s turn to make a face. “Brunch?”
He had ingredients to make the usual eggs, bacon, and toast in the morning, but if he’d known Monty wanted something more substantial, he could’ve added a few things to the basket during their shopping trip that afternoon. He was just about to tell him as much when Monty spoke first.
“Sure,” he said easily. “I didn’t think you would want to bother with cooking in between this event and the premiere tomorrow. I’ll take you out. My treat.”
The admonition died on Hilliard’s tongue.
Monty was skilled at stifling criticism with his suave magic, so Hilliard was used to being cut off before giving a gentle scolding. But this was different. Monty wasn’t offering some halfhearted excuse or cocky smile. Instead, he sounded genuine, almost routine about his offer, as though he’d actually been thinking about doing this rather than coming up with it on the spot to save himself.
But even more noticeable was the lack of influence in the air between them. Monty wasn’t using his magic.
“That would be nice,” Hilliard agreed softly.
Monty’s face lit up.
“Does that mean you’ll let me drive the Cadillac?”
Hilliard put on a sly grin of his own as he lifted his glass to his lips.
“No.”
Chapter 19
Monty
Monty had carefully selected a place for brunch that Hilliard was unlikely to try on his own—just swanky enough for Hilliard to consider it a luxury, but homey enough that the man wouldn’t fight too hard—and also so he’d be comfortable with the options.
It was a new Italian restaurant that he’d been eying for a few months that seemed perfect. Even better was the magazine stand on the corner nearby, so Monty was able to snag two copies of The Stargazer as promised.
Hilliard was duly impressed with the restaurant. He admired the floral centerpieces with delight and looked over the menu with a curious eye.
