“I have another meeting in ten,” Ezra said, standing up as they collected two of the folders from lower in the stack. “We’ll talk soon.” With that, they shuffled around the desk and out of the room.
Hilliard and Monty both stared at the empty chair they left behind.
Two weeks. That was all the time they had left before Monty was free to return home. Back to his sporty roadster, and his swimming pool, and his poorly stocked pantry and refrigerator. Back to the life he’d been plucked from like a weed in Hilliard’s flowerbed, expected to return as nothing less than a flawless bloom for everyone to admire.
Hilliard sucked up every bit of emotion he had and forced a grin as he turned to Monty, squeezing his forearm this time.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice deceptively strong.
Monty’s eyes met his, briefly searching, before he pushed up out of his chair and stalked through the open door. Hilliard followed, a little bewildered. When he caught up to Monty, he suggested that they go and get something from the commissary. Most of what they served was mediocre at best, but a cup of thick pudding sounded good enough to soothe whatever worries Monty was having about the situation.
They collected their trays and found a table by the long wall of windows. Monty still hadn’t said a word, so Hilliard made another attempt.
“I’ll bet you’re looking forward to driving again.”
“Sure.”
The muscles in Monty’s jaw worked as he chewed a bite of bread and stared out the window beside him. Hilliard’s forced cheer faltered. He gave up in favor of his butterscotch pudding, sticking a spoonful in his mouth as he looked around the commissary, searching for something else to talk about.
To his surprise, Jesse Morgan emerged from the line looking a little lost. Hilliard waved him over, expecting Cal to be somewhere close behind, but Jesse was alone. He sat with a puff of fatigue that drew even Monty’s distracted attention.
“What’s the matter, doll?” Hilliard asked him with a slight frown.
“I’m beat,” Jesse said over the rim of his water glass before chugging away at it.
Monty finally found his words.
“You been dancing?”
“Yeah,” Jesse sighed. “They needed the sound for the tap scenes. All of them.”
Hilliard winced. No wonder he was so exhausted.
Monty asked where Cal was, and when Jesse revealed that he’d been recording by himself all morning, the sour mood began to make more sense. He and Cal had become inseparable, both on and off set. It only made sense he was feeling lost without his constant companion.
“Is anything else bothering you?” Hilliard asked carefully. “I’m not sure I’ve seen you looking so serious since that night at the Pink Peacock when our friend here was making a fool of himself all over you.”
“I was making a first impression,” Monty argued. When Jesse reminded him that they’d already met before that night, Monty paused, pursed his lips, then said, “I was making a second impression.”
“You’re lucky there was a third, or else I’m sure Jesse would’ve wanted nothing else to do with you,” Hilliard told him.
Monty let out an offended yelp, smacking a hand over his heart.
“You don’t mean that.”
Hilliard was unable to maintain his serious expression for long. He offered Monty a grin instead, and some of the tension that had been lingering between them lifted when Monty returned it.
“No, I’m sure he would’ve been just as willing to forgive you as the rest of us always are, magic or no magic. Isn’t that right, Jesse?” Hilliard waited a few seconds for Jesse’s reply. When one never came, he turned back to the young man to discover his melancholy had deepened even more. “Jesse?”
His big blue eyes snapped up, full of worry that twisted at Hilliard’s heart. Monty seemed to see something else entirely.
“He’s fine. I’d recognize that look anywhere.”
“What look?” Hilliard asked.
“The same one he was giving Campbell in the back seat of your Cadillac,” Monty purred, putting a special smack of emphasis on the end of Cadillac.
“Cal?” Hilliard watched Jesse’s expression go from disheartened to downright abashed with pink cheeks to match. The reaction to one simple word–one simple name–spoke louder than any other explanation could. Hilliard’s magic softened him from the inside out. “Cal?” he repeated gently.
