Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (30 page)

"By which you mean, how is the dance studio going?" she replied wryly.
 

"No, I was asking about you." Debra smiled softly. "Not that the dance studio doesn't contribute to your overall wellbeing, but I know you have more going on. Have you talked to Jack?"

She tried not to pout but it was hard. "Not since I went to Mama's Crowbar to see him. I asked him to be more present with Lily."

"And?"

"Nothing so far." She felt a surge of anger and frustration. "I hope he steps up, because it might make all the difference in Lily surviving her teenage years."

Debra straightened, concern shadowing her face. "Is Lily in trouble?"

"Yes. With me." Eleanor made a face. "At the moment, she's grounded for the next twenty years. She lied to me about being at her friend's house. I caught her going out. I think she was waiting for a boy."

"That's natural, even if it
is
still difficult." Debra smiled ruefully, brushing a strand of hair from Eleanor's face. "I remember the first date you had. I wanted to follow you all night to make sure you'd be okay. I almost asked Jack if he had a shotgun."

Her dad had been too wrapped up in his grief to care about any of them. She supposed he still was, although she suspected his apathy and withdrawn nature was just habit by now. "I'm worried about her. I don't know how to reach her anymore. It seems like she just drifts further and further from me. I thought maybe dad could engage with her on writing, at least."

Debra blinked. "Lily likes to write?"

"Apparently."
 

"She didn't tell you?"

"Someone else mentioned it." That someone had been Max. She frowned. How had he found out? She'd been too wrapped up to ask him.

"Well, then, I'll talk to Jack about it too." Debra squeezed her arm. "It's all going to work out, honey. You'll see."
 

It didn't feel that way now, but she smiled and, before she left, asked her aunt to come over for dinner later that week.
 

Right as she pulled into her driveway at home, her phone rang. It was her sister Eliza, so she answered it quickly before it went to voicemail. "How big is your apartment?" she asked as a greeting.

"It's a Paris apartment," Eliza replied.

"So that means it's pretentious and just a little apathetic, but it doesn't answer my question."

Eliza laughed. "Why? Are you planning on sending me furniture or something?"

"I was thinking I could come live with you for a while. I could take care of little Martin while you paint, and then dance in cabarets at night." She sighed wistfully, slumping against the car seat. "Of any city, I bet Paris is the most accepting of forty-one year old cabaret dancers."

"Okay, Ellie, now I'm worried. You sound pathetic."

Eleanor nodded. "That's a fair assessment."

"Yes, but you
never
sound pathetic. You're always gung-ho about life. It's only been a little over a week since I spoke to you, and you were so determined then. What's happened?"

"Well"—she took a deep breath and then in one fell swoop said—"I began to renovate the shed in the back, only Max stopped the project, but really it was Liam McCullough, the actor, and then it got back on track, and I bought a tutu for Max to help him with his music, but then Barbara stopped my dance studio from happening for good, and now Lily's grounded until she's thirty and I have no prospects."

"Who's Max?" her sister asked.

"Of all that,
that's
what you pick up on?"

"Of course. You bought him a tutu. That's the equivalent of buying someone a ten-carat diamond ring. You think tutus are magic."

"Robbie said the same thing," she admitted.

"That's because Robbie's smart, and he knows you as well as I do." Eliza paused. "So? Are you going to tell me who Max is, or do I have to call Debra?"

She glanced at the Reynolds' house. "You know how Liam McCullough bought the house next door? Max is his friend who's staying there to work on his music. He's a composer."

"
Interesting
."

"It's really not," she lied.

"You bought him a tutu. Trust me. This is interesting. You like him."

"I do not," she said, wincing when she realized that she sounded like Lily. "I just admire him."

"What parts of him do you admire most?" her sister asked, the smirk in her tone loud and clear.

Actually, all of him was admirable, body and soul, but she wasn't ready to admit that yet, not even really to herself. "He's only here for another week, maybe less."

"Which means you aren't going to go out with him?"

Not go out with Max? She shouldn't, but…Eleanor touched her lips, sighing as she remembered the way he kissed her, like she was something to be treasured.
 

"I knew it!" Eliza shrieked over the line. "I
knew
it. You want to go out with him. You
like
him. Does Debra know? What does Robbie think about him? He's leaving, so are you just having a fling?"

Putting a hand to her forehead, she groaned.
 

A distant cry rose in the background. "Oh hell, I woke up Martin," her sister said. "Damn it, I wanted to know more about Max."

"You better go take care of the baby."

"I know.
Oui, mon petit, j'arrive
," her sister cooed. Then into the phone she said, "Just one question before I hang up. Did you buy yourself a new tutu?"

She winced. "No."

"So you bought some guy who's staying next door a tutu, but you didn't buy one for yourself."
 

"Robbie already pointed out my flaw, Eliza. I get it."

"If you get it you'd have bought yourself a tutu again. But that's not my point."

"What's your point?" Though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"I just wonder how you really feel about Max, because buying someone a tutu is a big deal for you."
 

Eleanor stared out the window at Max's house. She felt so many things, but layering on top of them all was fear. She was safer keeping her distance from Max. He made her forget to be careful, and that was dangerous.

Chapter 4

When Max walked into Mama's Crowbar, Robbie was already sitting at the bar with a beer in front of him. He watched the TV screen at the far corner, not really looking interested in the baseball game being shown.

Max walked up and took the open stool next to him. "This is a first for me," he said, holding out his hand.

Eleanor's friend took it without question. "For me too. If Elle knew I was intimidating you, she'd smack me upside the head."

He grinned. "
Trying
to intimidate, and I know she would. She's no one's fool."

"Except when it came to Charles Fehr. That man was an ass, and she fell for him." Robbie studied him with grim intensity. "Are you an ass?"

"My younger sister says I am, but she only says that because one time I replaced her toothpaste with soap."

The man made a face.

Max grinned. "It's worse, because she used to swallow her toothpaste instead of spitting it. She said she felt like she was foaming in her stomach for a week."

"Hey there." The bartender Sean came around, flashing his usual easy smile. Without asking, he began to draw a Guinness for Max, glancing at him. "Is Eleanor coming out tonight too? It's nice seeing her more often."

Max's gaze narrowed on the man. He'd come to the conclusion that the guy was just friendly with Eleanor, but now he was having doubts again.
 

"Just the guys tonight, Sean," Robbie said, suddenly cheerful.

"Too bad." The bartender set the pint in front of Max. "I liked seeing the two of you dancing the other night. Made me think I should encourage people to get their groove on more. I'm thinking about it. Enjoy." He smiled as he moved down the bar to help other customers.
 

Max stared after the guy. He had no right to be jealous. Eleanor was her own woman.

Still.

Robbie chuckled next to him.

He turned, frowning at the other man. "What?"

"You and Elle danced."
 

"So?"

"You got her to dance, and now you're looking at Sean like you want to tear his head off." Robbie grinned. "You like Elle."

"That's already been established."
 

"Dancing, in and of itself, would have been suspect," Robbie continued as if Max hadn't spoken. "It's a classic move, a sure way to get a woman into bed. But you're jealous of
Sean
, and that's telling."
 

"Why is that telling?" he asked.

"Because Elle would never go for Sean. She's known him since school. There's no chemistry." Robbie shrugged. "So should we get the requisite questions out of the way?"

"I'm not wanted in any states, if that's what you're asking."

"It wasn't, but I'm happy to know that." Eleanor's friend leaned back in his seat, humor lining his mouth, but his gaze was dead serious. "Tell me about you and your prospects, Amadeus."

"You know why I'm going to answer your question?" Max said, holding his pint out.

"Why?"

"Because I'd do the same if the situation was reversed." They clinked glassed and he took a sip. "Do you want the modest version or the truth?"

Robbie chuckled. "I think I like you."

The feeling was mutual, but it was probably wiser not to admit that right off. Still, he felt his shoulders unwind with the tension they'd been unconsciously holding. "I'm one of the leading composers in Hollywood. Have you heard of John Williams?"

"The guy who composed the Star Wars theme?" Robbie nodded.

"That's going to be me." He'd always known it—he was going to leave his mark on the movie industry with his movie scores. It'd only been the last couple weeks when his faith in that vision had been shaken. But he pushed the uncertainty aside and focused on the man next to him. "Music is everything. We were all raised that way. My brother and sister are both successful musicians, though my brother adapted his skills to the Internet."

"You're close to your family." It was a statement instead of a question.

Max looked him in the eye. "You are too."

"I don't have brothers and sisters. Elle's always been my sister. And my parents live in Florida now."

"But you have Bernie," he pointed out.

Robbie's expression lit up. "I do. I love that old man. He taught me what I know about life, and Mary, my grandmother, taught me to love trees and plants. I remember sitting in the dirt with her as a kid, listening to her tell me that flowers wouldn't grow if you stepped on them, and that people were the same way." Tapping the counter with his fingers, Robbie gave him a flat look. "You hear what I'm saying?"

"Loud and clear." Max held his hand out, a gesture of recognition and respect.

"Good." Robbie took it, his handshake firm. "I'm glad we got that out of the way. I kind of like you. I'd have hated to have to beat you up."

Someone shifted the stool next to him. Max looked over and groaned when he saw Eleanor's father take the seat.

"This is
excellent
," Robbie said with way too much delight. He leaned around Max. "Jack, have you met Max?"

"I have." The older man gave him a long look. "You're still here."

"And you still haven't called Lily."

"Touché," he heard Robbie murmur.

The older man had the grace to look ashamed. "I don't know why she'd want to talk to an old man."

"Maybe because you're her grandfather." He shrugged. "But what do I know?"

"I'd say you know a lot," Robbie interjected. "Max lives next door to Eleanor, Jack."

"So I hear." The man nodded at Sean, who set a beer and a whiskey in front of him.

The man's lack of interest really pissed him off. If the guy weren't Eleanor's father, he'd have punched him.
 

But it wasn't his problem. He cared about Eleanor—a lot—but her relationship with her father was hers to figure out. His intention was better placed in other areas where he could actually make a difference.