Chapter 23
Monty
Despite their failed attempt at an adventurous experience, Monty found he had no complaints as he and Hilliard cuddled on the bed.
The brown quilt that Hilliard disliked so much had been moved to the laundry hamper and they’d cleaned themselves of—well, everything.
Then they had climbed back into bed together with Hilliard resting his head on Monty’s chest, an unusual arrangement for them as Hilliard was considerably taller, but Monty secretly adored it.
Hilliard had already started to doze off; Monty could tell by the heaviness of his breathing.
Henrietta had apparently discovered this as well as she hopped up onto the bed next to them.
She was, supposedly, not allowed on the bed, but she and Monty were working on changing that particular rule.
Monty was a sucker for cuddles, wherever he could get them.
He idly ran one hand through Hilliard’s honey-colored hair and laid his other hand on Henrietta’s back.
He couldn’t get their conversation from earlier out of his head, about letting everyone know about their relationship.
He hated the idea of keeping Hilliard as some sort of secret.
The man deserved better than that. But he also knew that Hilliard had little interest in publicity, regardless of his career.
It was why he had settled comfortably in a house in the suburbs, just outside of the city center.
No bus tours ever came by to point out the owner of the house and no reporters ever caught them unawares at the grocer.
Monty had spent his entire career trying to be as famous as possible.
How strange that he had fallen in love with a man who stayed firmly out of the public eye.
As Henrietta gave a sigh and leaned against him more fully, Monty decided that it was kind of nice to be able to relax when he was at home.
Hilliard’s house was so different from his own: it was homey.
And not just because of Hilliard’s cooking, or the hydrangeas that he took such good care of, or the freshly dusted surfaces.
No, it was simply Hilliard’s presence that made Monty feel like he belonged.
Together, they were unlikely to throw any of the wild parties Monty used to dream about hosting.
But he could get used to small dinner parties with friends, like Cal and Jesse.
He had begun to look forward to home after work—drying the dishes while Hilliard washed, and then settling in for the evening with a cozy activity like puzzles or reading (Hilliard had a well-stocked bookshelf).
He never used to look forward to going home in his own house.
He would work late, go out and drink, go to parties—anything to stay out of the big empty mausoleum of a place.
Still, he thought, they ought to tell people about the romance blooming. They should tell it on their own terms. He just needed to find out how.
The answer came the following morning. Monty strolled into the kitchen to the smell of blueberry pancakes and the sound of what he had come to discover was Hilliard’s preferred radio station for Saturday mornings. He wrapped his arms around Hilliard’s stomach and kissed his neck.
“You spoil me,” he murmured into Hilliard’s skin.
“Don’t I know it.”
Monty grinned, knowing Hilliard could probably feel it. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘You deserve it, doll,’ or ‘You’re worth it, sweetheart,’ or something?”
“Why do you need me to say it? Sounds like you already know.”
Monty was silent for a long moment as a realization struck him with Hilliard’s words. Hilliard seemed to sense his change in mood because he shifted slightly and put a hand over Monty’s.
“You okay?”
“Just thinking.”
“Penny for your thoughts then?”
Monty moved his hand so he was clasping Hilliard’s hand between both of his. “I was just realizing that the only reason I know I’m worth it is because you always make me feel like I am.”
Hilliard put his spatula on the counter and turned in Monty’s arms. He cupped Monty’s cheek with his free hand. “I don’t want you to forget it, sugar.”
Monty leaned up to kiss him and Hilliard returned the kiss, making him feel seen and cherished. The sizzle of batter brought them back to the present and they pulled apart.
“What can I do to help?”
“Make the coffee?”
“Sure.”
When they sat down to eat their pancakes, Hilliard said, “Edie’s having another party tonight.”
Monty paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Is she? Did you want to go?”
“I’m not one for parties, but I know you are. I wasn’t sure if you’d like to go.”
Monty put his fork down on the plate. “It might not be a bad idea. You know the golden rule of those parties: no talk after. We could be…together there, and it wouldn’t make front page news. Even if Joan Dupree is there, she wouldn’t be able to print anything about us.”
“So we’re going?”
Monty nodded decisively. “We’re going. Do you know what the theme is?”
“Picnics. I thought I’d wear my yellow gingham.”
“Hmm. Maybe I should trot out the denim.”
“I don’t know,” Hilliard said in a thoughtful tone. “I’d prefer to leave with you. I think if you wear those, other people might be too tempted to peel them off of you.”
“Oh, well, can’t have that.”
They spent the afternoon in their typical way: Hilliard puttered around the house, cleaning things. He baked a loaf of chocolate zucchini bread while Monty read out crossword puzzle clues for them to solve. When the sky started to darken, they changed into party attire.
The guest bedroom had essentially become Monty’s closet, considering he hadn’t slept in the room in days.
He picked out a red and white striped sports jacket to fit the theme and to subtly match Hilliard, and white trousers to match.
As he slipped the jacket on, he began to look with dread at the prospect of leaving the house.
Even worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to share what he had with Hilliard with anyone else.
It still felt too precious. He didn’t want anyone to see them kiss and think it was simply a product of the party’s influence.
Even less did he want someone to make a pass at either of them.
But they’d already made the plans. They were going.
Hilliard was already ready to go, dressed in a pressed gingham shirt with a bolo tie to match the look. He eyed Monty’s outfit appreciatively.
“Maybe it isn’t the denim. Maybe it’s just you. Because I want to peel that off of you right now.”
Monty hooked a finger under the bolo tie and gently tugged Hilliard closer. “What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“Should we change then? Protect the populace from temptation?”
“It would be charitable of us,” Monty said. He twiddled the tie around his finger. “But we went through all the work to get dressed, and to the theme. Seems like a waste.”
“True. Besides, I imagine everyone will be too drunk or too busy to notice us anyway. Shall we?” Hilliard moved to put a hand on the doorknob. “We should probably leave if we don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”
“The traffic will be rough.”
Something in his tone made Hilliard turn. “And of course, we’ll still have to make some sort of statement later if we want people to really know.”
“Hm. That’s a good point. But the food will be good.”
“Yes, I’m intrigued by the theme.” Hilliard turned the doorknob.
“But I’m sure whatever they’re serving won’t be as good as whatever you’d make. I think picnic food is best when it’s homemade. Don’t you?”
“To be sure.” Hilliard’s hand slid off the doorknob again. “I’m very picky, as y0u know.”
“I’d hate for you to ruin your appetite with sub-par fried chicken.”
“It’s an art.”
Monty grinned. “It’s going to be pretty crowded too. Far too loud to sit and talk like we usually do. I don’t think you’d be interested in necking with all those people around.”
“Yeah, I’d prefer not. And I did just make that zucchini bread.”
“We couldn’t possibly let fresh zucchini bread go to waste. And of course, there’s Henrietta.”
“It would be too bad if we left her alone again.”
“And we never finished that crossword puzzle.”
“I have a whole book of those, you know.”
Monty brightened. “No kidding?”
“I bought it for the beach, but never got around to it.” He tilted his head and looked at Monty affectionately. “So I guess we just can’t make it to the party.”
“What with the traffic and the fried chicken and the crossword puzzles and the zucchini bread and the dog…it’s just not in the cards tonight.”
Hilliard slid his arm around Monty’s waist. “What a shame.”
“It really is. I was looking forward to it.” Monty kissed him. “But these things can’t be helped.”
“Sometimes duty calls and you have to stay at home.”
“Even when you really want to leave.”
“Even when you’d like nothing better than to be surrounded by half-dressed people who are far too drunk to think straight, listening to music that is too loud to talk over.”
“It’s just too bad,” Monty replied, leaning into Hilliard’s embrace. “Maybe next time.”
With that, Hilliard returned to the kitchen to toast up some slices of zucchini bread and slather them with generous helpings of butter.
After they’d eaten, Hilliard sat on the sofa, Monty laid on it with his head in Hilliard’s lap, and Henrietta nestled onto Monty’s stomach. And they finished the crossword puzzle.