Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (20 page)

She understood why Anya had picked this music. It would showcase the best of her: her passion and her bravura. It'd be a brilliantly successful piece and make her star shine brighter instead of beginning to diminish with age, which was a dancer's greatest fear.

Eleanor spun into the hallway, an arabesque here, a small brisé there, and then more contained spins all the way into the living room. She was about to go from fourth position to another leap when the doorbell rang and jarred her out of the music.

Not sure who it could be—she wasn't going to make the mistake of hoping it was Max again—she went to answer.

Opening the door, she slammed it shut on instinct the second she saw it was her ex-mother-in-law, Barbara.

What the hell? Eleanor leaned against the wall, hiding, as if there was a demon on the other side.
 

That was harsh. Barbara wasn't a demon, just a lesser satanic minion.

The doorbell rang again. It should have sounded exactly the same as it had before, but somehow it was imbued with haughty impatience this time.
 

Inhaling for courage, Eleanor swung open the door. "Barbara. This is a surprise."

Charles's mother looked down her nose at her without saying anything. Then she said, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"No." Eleanor covered her mouth, shocked—the word just slipped out. She needed to apologize—

No, she didn't. She lowered her hand and stood her ground.
 

Barbara's eyes widened. "
No?
"
 

"No," she repeated, not entirely sure. She should think of Lily—this was her daughter's only grandmother, after all. Not that having Barbara as a grandmother was a prize. The woman wasn't precisely maternal, except when it came to getting involved in Charles's life.

Eleanor put her shoulders back and smiled as politely as she could manage. "Please call Lily and arrange to see her if you want, but don't come by this house ever again," she said before closing the door and latching it.

Then she slumped against it, her heart beating like mad and sweat breaking out on the bridge of her nose. She felt like she'd battled a dragon, but she wasn't entirely sure she'd won yet.

 
She pulled out her phone and texted Max:
How do you feel about your mother?

His reply was instantaneous.
I love her.

Eleanor made a face.
A healthy love?

It took a little longer for his next text to arrive.
If you're asking if I feel Oedipal towards her, the answer is hell no. Emphasis on HELL.

Smiling, relieved, she typed back:
Good to know.

Chapter 10

Max had his head on the top of the piano, in defeat, when the text came.

It was from Eleanor, which was immediately something to perk up about.
Are you home?
she asked.

His answer was simple:
Can you come over?

She replied back with,
On my way, and I'm coming over with inspiration.
 

He tried not to let his mind go there.
 

Good luck with that, son
, his dad's voice sounded dubious in his head.
 

A few minutes later, he heard the back door slam and then Eleanor calling out. "Where are you?"
 

"In the music room," he said, turning around on the bench.

Eleanor glided in, a ray of light that suddenly illuminated the room, carrying a shopping bag in her hand. She looked naturally beautiful, with dark lashes framing her eyes, and her lips a glistening pink.

At least she wore her hair up. If it'd been loose, no telling what he'd be inspired to do, but he bet it wasn't what she had in mind.

"Are you making progress with your music?" she asked eagerly, tilting her head to look at his notes on the piano top.

Shaking his head, he gathered up the pages and set them aside. That was the song he'd written for her, not his movie score. Not that she'd know. Not that she even knew he'd written a song for her.

And it was going to stay that way. "I was just writing down ideas for another project," he said.

She frowned at him. "Shouldn't you focus on the one that's due next week?"

"Probably." Definitely. He could feel Landot ready to push him aside and take his place.
 

"Well." Eleanor smiled brightly as she set a bag down. "Then we should get to this."

"This?" He looked at the bag suspiciously.

"Before though"—she reached in and then held her palm out to him—"I forgot to give this to you. It's from Luna, at the crystal shop. It's a sodalite."

"Sodalite," he repeated, taking the blue stone that was in her hand. "I don't know what that means."

"Neither do I." She shrugged. "You're supposed to use it to worry less, like worry beads, I guess."

He held it up to look at it. On closer examination, it had several shades of blue shot through with white veins. He listened to it to see if he could hear the music in it, and he smiled as he heard a calmness that was like water gently lapping. "Thank you," he said, putting it in his pocket, which is where it seemed to belong.

Reaching into the bag again, she pulled out something fluffy and red. "And
I
got you this."

He watched as she shook it out, and then he blinked. "
A tutu?
"

"Yes." Eleanor touched the layers wistfully. "A fire tutu, to help relight yours. Isn't it pretty?"

The longing in her gaze sparked a melody in his head, bittersweet but whimsical. He closed his eyes, letting it flow through him, memorizing the notes so he could reproduce it later.
 

Without opening his eyes, he reached for the pencil on top of the piano.

He brushed soft fingers, and the jolt of the touch made his eyes pop open.

Eleanor smiled apologetically at him. "Sorry," she said as she handed him the pencil. "I was just trying to help."

Instead of taking the pencil and writing down the music, he took her hand and held it in his.
 

She stepped closer, so she was next to the bench he sat on. "I came over to inspire you, not for this."

This
was the problem. Whenever she was around, all he wanted was to talk to her and touch her. At this rate, he'd never get the score done, because she was the only music he heard. "Can you really say you don't want this?"

She swallowed audibly and looked away. For a moment he thought she was going to tell him no, she didn't want it. But then she looked him in the eye. "I made a promise to help you, because you helped me, and I'm going to keep that promise."

"And this?" he asked.

"This isn't part of the deal."

Frowning, he recoiled. "Of course it's not. I don't blackmail women into intimate relationships."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "No, only men with dark mustaches do that."

"This isn't funny."
 

"Sorry," she said, biting her lip like she was trying not to laugh.

Eyes narrowed, he held her fast. "Let's get something straight, Eleanor. In case it wasn't clear, I want you, separate and clear of any deal we have."

Sobering, she searched his face. "You do?"

She sounded doubtful, and that pissed him off. What kind of idiot was her ex-husband, that he hadn’t seen what he’d had in front of his eyes? "I could kick that fucker's ass."

"Charles?" She stared at him contemplatively. "That wouldn't bother me very much, actually, as long as I could get in a couple kicks too."

"Deal."

She tipped her head. "Are we going to kiss on it?"

"No." He tugged her closer, so she stood between his legs. "We're going to kiss because we want to."

She met him halfway, her lips warm and eager. She tasted like mint and hope, but she felt like heaven as he wrapped an arm around her. Lifting his other hand, he took the clip out of her hair and twined his fingers in the silky strands.
 

She lifted her head just enough to say, "You aren't going to distract me from the tutu, you know."

"You can put the tutu on." He pictured her dancing around him, the translucent layers flicking like flames around her legs, and he felt himself get even more turned on.
 

"
You're
putting the tutu on." She untangled herself from his arms and picked it up, holding it out to him.
 

He shook his head. "No way. No self-respecting man would put on a tutu like that unless he was getting paid a hell of a lot of money."

"Which I assume you are, for your soundtrack." She arched her brow.
 

"It's not the money that drives me," he said.

"What is then?"

"I want to work with the director. Duggan and I have a rapport that you don't find in most working relationships. It's a chance to explore uncharted territories."

She nodded. "If you're about exploring uncharted territories, you can put the tutu on."

"Tell me about the Joffrey Ballet," he said, hoping to distract her.

Eleanor stilled, pain at the edges of her expression.

He immediately wanted to take back the question. He didn't like seeing that look on her face at all. "I wrote my first song when I was three years old," he said to divert the conversation. "I wanted to be a composer from my earliest memory."

"That's unusual for a child," she said, the hurt beginning to fade.

Relief washed over him, and he kept talking to distract her. "It's not so unusual if you knew my parents. My dad is a music teacher. Music and family are all life is about. My mom is a music therapist."

"Have you talked to her about your writer's block?"
 

"I don't have a block." He gave Eleanor a flat look as he turned around on the piano bench. His fingers glided over the keys, warming up. "My brother Johann created a music learning app, and my sister Carmen is the lead singer for Wild Abandon."

Eleanor sat next to him on the bench. "Are you going to play me the first song you composed?"

He smiled at her and began to play it.

It was simple in his thirty-nine-year-old opinion, but sometimes the simple tunes were the ones that pleased longest.

When he finished playing it, he faced her. "What did you think?"

She cupped his face and kissed him, the softest kiss on his lips. Then she got up and headed toward the door.

In the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. "Don't think you made me forget about the tutu. I'll see you in it. One day soon."
 

A slow smile touched his still-tingling lips. He looked forward to her trying.

Chapter 11

Lily stomped into the kitchen and came to stand directly in front of her. Her hands were on her hips, and she was decked out in full indignant-teenager attitude.

Not how Eleanor wanted to start the day. She snipped some wheatgrass from the planter box, trying to keep her hands steady. "Good morning, daughter. Did you sleep well?"

"Dad texted me. He said Grandmother stopped by, and you were rude to her."