Epilogue
Hilliard
Vacation was a notion Hilliard hadn’t paid any mind to since childhood.
Every summer, his family spent several weeks farther up the coast. They’d lose hours shelling and sailing, eating their fill of the best local seafood every night.
While his parents played golf, he and his second-oldest sister would share platefuls of sweets from the resort dining hall and giggle about which boys earning their college tuition were most handsome, comparing them to the ones who worked at the yacht club back home.
Once he’d left to make it on his own, that frivolity ended.
It was difficult to justify the cost of living somewhere else for even a couple of days when he could hardly afford the place he rented the rest of the time.
And when he’d finally started earning enough from his films to pay for his modest house and all the things he collected to make it a home, he found the idea of leaving it for anywhere else didn’t hold the same appeal it once had.
He liked being in his comfortable space, surrounded by his belongings.
Then, on the night of their premiere in late October, Monty surprised him with two first-class train tickets to Chicago.
From there, they’d travel the rest of the way to Milwaukee.
Monty was keeping his promise of taking Hilliard home for the holidays.
The gift made an already special night that much better.
Hilliard watched their snowiest scenes unfold with even more excitement about seeing his beau bundled up from the cold.
When it came time to pack for their trip several weeks later, Hilliard was at a loss.
“How am I supposed to pack for weather I’ve never experienced before?” he asked a little helplessly. There were clothes everywhere as he tried to determine what to stuff into his three suitcases for a month-long stay.
Monty was watching him casually; legs stretched out in front of him on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He looked far too comfortable and, unfortunately for Hilliard, rather distracting as he lounged in his underwear and dressing robe. They were both silk in matching shades of red.
“I already told you: layers,” Monty said, putting extra slow emphasis on the last word.
“My clothes are not designed for stacking,” Hilliard protested.
“And they’re not made for cold, either. You’re lucky we’ll be leaving before late winter sets in. That’s when the temperatures really drop.” Monty sat up and propped himself against the headboard. “If you won’t let me buy you a new coat, then you’ll just have to trust me on this.”
“And where do you suppose a new coat would fit with all the rest of this mess?” Hilliard put a hand to his forehead, pressing at the beginning of a headache. “At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I can make enough room for my unmentionables.”
“Now you’re talking,” Monty said with a smirk.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Hilliard asked, narrowing his eyes as he picked up a pair of underwear he’d already stacked up. He wore a little grin of his own as he threw them at Monty, who laughed as he caught them against his chest.
“If you have to sacrifice something, I’d say it’s the best place to start.” Monty tossed them back onto the pile. “Besides, we could always buy you a couple new pairs when we get there. It’s the Midwest, not the Wild West. They do have department stores.”
“Oh?” Hilliard asked with feigned surprise. “I always assumed you grew up wearing burlap sacks, or perhaps in a loincloth woven from corn husks.”
“Illinois has corn,” Monty corrected. “Wisconsin has cows.”
“Ah, of course,” Hilliard said flippantly as he folded another shirt that he was almost certain he probably wanted to bring along.
“A corn husk loincloth would be something, though,” Monty went on. He let out a low whistle. “One wrong move and that sucker would bust right open.”
“That’s the last thing you need. You already struggle to keep your regular drawers on in the best of conditions.” Hilliard flicked his eyes over the red silk pair, which was a horrible mistake.
Monty noticed, of course. Without any further prompting, he maneuvered to his knees on the bed, robe slipping mysteriously off one shoulder in the process. His dancer’s hips were already swaying.
“What are you accusing me of?”
“Montgomery,” Hilliard warned, shielding his view with one hand.
“I have less than four hours to finish this task before the car service picks us up. I do not need any distractions.” Fortunately, they’d already dropped Henrietta off at Cal’s place that morning.
He and Jesse–mostly Jesse–had enthusiastically volunteered to watch her while they were gone. He missed her already.
“Are you saying I’m quick to disrobe when an opportunity presents itself?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Hilliard agreed. He risked a peek through his fingers. The robe was indeed gone. Monty’s thumbs were tucked in the band at his waist, teasing the material dangerously low.
“And here I thought you liked watching me slip out of my clothes,” Monty purred.
Hilliard allowed himself to be dragged over to where Monty was, relenting far easier than he should have as Monty wrapped his arms around his neck.
“I certainly do,” Hilliard said, grabbing his own wrist after looping his arms loosely around Monty’s waist. “But I don’t believe you’ll want to introduce me to your family if I’m dressed like a clown because I packed under highly diverting conditions.”
The press of Monty’s lips against his throat had his pulse and eyelashes fluttering.
“You’ve been in California too long,” Monty murmured in between kisses. “My family won’t care what you wear. I guarantee that pink sweater alone cost more than any piece of clothing they’ve ever owned.”
Hilliard shifted his gaze to the sweater in question. It was far from the nicest one he’d put in his suitcase, let alone had in his wardrobe. Maybe he was putting too much thought into it, after all. The shifting of Monty’s hips against his had him thinking less altogether.
“Layers,” Hilliard muttered, just before Monty kissed him.
“Mm-hmm,” Monty agreed against his lips.
Hilliard bent enough to hoist Monty into his arms, which was met with a moan of surprise as he lifted the shorter man off his knees.
Monty’s legs hooked around him, likely in anticipation of being put on his back.
Instead, Hilliard turned and carried Monty out of the bedroom–and set him down in the hallway.
“What–?”
Hilliard watched as Monty’s look of adorable confusion turned to outrage as he closed the door, turning the lock before Monty could attempt to get back inside.
“No more distractions,” Hilliard said apologetically through the thin barrier. He grinned at the string of curses Monty gave in return before retreating.
With the bedroom to himself, Hilliard was able to get through his endeavor with only a few more long pauses as he decided between the various pants, shirts, shoes, and ties.
He only owned one scarf that wasn’t strictly a fashionable accessory, so he packed that, too.
When he was finally satisfied, he put his hands on his hips and turned toward the dresser.
Tucked away in the middle drawer was the real reason he’d sent Monty out.
Wearing denim had been part of this deal from the start, but Hilliard couldn’t have Monty acting smug about it the whole time.
He’d keep the pants a surprise until the perfect day and wear them when Monty was least expecting it.
If his family was as casual as he kept insisting, maybe even on Christmas Day paired with the red cardigan.
He knew Monty would be pleased to tell his story of success with an audience.
The gold band in the front pocket would make an appearance later, though, during a quiet moment when it was just the two of them–the way Hilliard loved most of all.
The End