Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (36 page)

"Do you know how hard it is to choreograph?" she asked even though she wanted to quiz him on Max.

"Nope. Can't say that I've ever tried it." He arched his brow at her. "Have you?"

She tossed a clump of dirt at him.
 

"I didn't think so," he said mildly, tucking another plant into the soil.

Chapter 12

"Are we painting today?" Lily asked. "Or hanging the mirrors?"

"Painting." Max pried open a canister of paint. "It'll be easier, I think, because we won't have to tape off the mirrors this way."

The teenager shrugged. "Whatever."
 

"I bought yellow." He glanced at her. "You think your mom will like it?"

Lily shrugged again.
 

"Do you like it?"

She made a face. "Does it matter what I think?"

"Yes, it does." When she didn't reply, he began filling two trays with paint. "Want to talk about it?" he asked casually.

"No," was the sullen reply he got.

"Then maybe you should write it out." He set a pan and roller next to her and began to fill a pan for himself.

"Write about it?" the kid said, sounding incredulous. "Like, a story?"

"Yeah. It'll be cathartic. Tell your mom the things you want to say but can't, only through your characters in the story. That's how writers express their inner feelings."

The girl's brow furrowed as she mulled it over. Max thought she was going to tell him he was full of shit, but then she said, "Maybe."

He hid his smile by pretending to be engrossed with his roller.

"Is that what you do?" she asked.

"Work things out by putting them in my music? It's what all artists do. My mom used to tell me that it didn't matter what you created. All great artists have one thing in common. They create from their heart. Our best work is our truest presentation of our heart in the moment we made it." He sent his mom a mental hug, thinking about Eleanor's symphony. "I didn't really get it until just the last couple weeks."

"Hmm."

He glanced at the kid. "You don't agree?"

"I do." She made a face when he gaped at her. "What?"

Shaking his head, he began to paint. "I guess pigs do fly sometimes."
 

She snorted as she continued to work alongside him.

They'd finished two walls when they heard, "What are you doing?"

They both turned around. Max heard Lily's startled gasp, as if they were caught doing something bad.

He just smiled at Eleanor, who stood in the doorway, looking stunned. "We're putting together your dance studio. I told you I was going to."

"But I didn't think you were actually going to
do it
," she said, not sounding grateful at all.

"You need to have a place to dance," he replied.

She stared at him and then turned to Lily. "You may go in now."

Raising her brows, the teenager glanced at him as she set her roller down and walked out of the studio.
 

"I'm not sure why, but you seem upset," he began, putting his roller down too.

"Yes, I am." She put her hands on her hips. "I never asked you to do this."

"You didn't. I'm doing it because I want to."

"But why?" she asked, her gaze a dare.

He couldn't decide if she was angry or upset. Mostly she just looked like she was going to burst into tears, and he'd have done anything to stop that. "Because you had your heart set on this space. Because having this studio gives you a place where you can always dance. Because having this space will make you happy."

She shook her head. "That's not why you're doing it. You think I should choreograph for Anya and the Joffrey."

He did, because he'd felt how much dancing meant to her. But he shrugged. "That's your decision."

She looked around the room, frowning sadly. "I'd have thought you'd be too busy packing to go back home to do this."
 

"Is that what this is about?" Finally, it made sense. Setting down the roller, he grabbed a towel and wiped his hands as he walked toward her. "Did Lily tell you I was offered the contract?"

She turned her face away, but she nodded minutely. "Congratulations," she said, not really sounding like she meant it.
 

Tossing the rag aside, he took her by the arms. "I haven't accepted it yet."

Her gaze lifted to his, her brows drawn in confusion. "What do you mean? It's everything you wanted."

"Maybe not quite everything." He ran a finger down her cheek.

Her face paled with fear, and she leaned back—not very much but enough that he got the message: she wasn't in the space to hear how he felt about her.

Smiling despite the disappointment, he let her go and stepped back to avoid crowding her. "I should finish the walls."

She nodded, turning around and walking out.
 

He wanted to call her back, to hold her, to kiss her and reassure her that it was all going to work out, but he didn't feel she'd take his comfort. So he picked up the roller and continued to paint, because it was the safest way to show her how much he cared.
 

*
 
*
 
*

Max followed the directions Bernie texted him. He arrived at Robbie's house, wondering how much Eleanor had told Robbie about what had happened between them.

He also wondered if Robbie might have a clue to Eleanor's feelings, but Max knew he couldn't ask. Tonight wasn't about that. Tonight he was going to drink a beer or two and play poker with the guys. He was going to hang out and bond with his new friends.
 

Robbie opened the door, smiling. "You're a brave man, coming here," he said, holding his hand out.

"Or foolish," Max said, shaking it.
 

"You're interested in Eleanor. That's not foolish," Robbie said, stepping aside to let him in. "That just shows good sense. Taking Elle out on a date in public was a brilliant move, by the way. Now that the entire town knows you two are seeing each other, Elle won't be able to hide. She's going to have to face you head on."

"That wasn't my intention," he said, thinking of what happened earlier that day. "It might actually backfire, because she's wary of relationships."

"Charles was a douchebag." Robbie clapped a hand on his shoulder and guided him down the hall. "If I didn't think she'd get angry, I'd pour sugar in the engine of his beloved BMW."

"I'm in if you ever decide to do it."

They exchanged knowing looks and then walked into the kitchen.

The kitchen was stone and wood, with large windows that pulled nature into the home. It was modern, but not aggressively so, very much like Max figured Robbie was.

Bernie grinned from the large round table by the bay windows. "There you are. Come join us, Young Max."

"Beer?" Robbie asked.

"Please," he said, shaking Bernie's hand before saying hello to the guys.
 

Max had met up with the whole gang one night for a drink at Mama's Crowbar. They'd been a motley crew, all different ages.
 

They weren't all here tonight. In addition to Bernie and Robbie, there was Stu, who was a little younger than Bernie at, like, a hundred-thirty years old. Lance, sitting next to Stu, was younger, around Max's dad's age. Max sat down in the empty seat next to Lance.

Sean was there too, which was surprising. The man gave him a wink as he continued to shuffle the deck of cards. "How'd the rest of your date go?"

"Date?" Lance asked, reaching for a handful of nuts from the center of the table.

"Max is sweet on little Eleanor Westwood," Bernie explained, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Ah." Lance nodded. "The Westwood women are beautiful. Have you seen Debra recently?"

Stu sighed. "If I were a couple years younger, I'd make her mine. The legs on that woman!"

Bernie snorted. "You'd need to be half a century younger to have a chance with Debra Westwood, not to mention twice as smart. She graduated from Harvard."

"All the Westwoods are smart," Robbie said, setting Max's beer in front of him.
 

"And talented," Bernie added. "I still have the painting little Eliza gave me when she was ten. One day, that painting is going to be worth a fortune."

Robbie nodded, turning to Max. "Elle's sister Eliza is an artist. She got married and moved to Paris last year. You know how Elle is about dance?"

"Passionate to the core."

"Right, and that's how Eliza is about painting. I'm hoping since Eliza got back on track, Elle will too." A flicker of worry crossed his expression. "The opportunity with Anya is important."

"But she needs to decide to do it," he said, giving the other man a cautionary look.

Robbie arched his brow, lifting his beer. "Easier said than done."
 

Max clinked bottles.
 

Sean cut the cards and began to deal them. "You didn't say how your date was," he said, raising his eyebrows at Max as if to say he knew he was evading him.

"I don't kiss and tell, gentlemen," Max replied, picking up his cards.

"So you kissed?" Robbie flashed a mischievous smile.
 

Bernie frowned at his cards. "I remember the first time I took my Mary out. I packed a picnic and took her to sit under the willow out Route 122."

Stu nodded. "That's a good tree. I parked there with Linda Krause one time."

"Mrs. Krause?" Sean exclaimed, lowering his hand. "Our school librarian?"

"Yes." The old man smiled like the Casanova he must have been. "There's a reason librarians have the reputation they have, you know."

Sean groaned, and Robbie covered his eyes with his hand. "I didn't need the visual, Uncle Stu."

Stu sighed. "She had the most amazing—"

"Anyone need a drink?" Robbie asked loudly, pushing his chair back with a screech.

Max snickered, and Bernie winked at him. "Stu was a ladies' man in his day."

"I'm trying to get my kids to send me to Whispering Pines," Stu said. "That's the nice old folks' home near Chappaqua. I hear there are a lot of single ladies looking for action in that place."

"Oh Jesus," Sean muttered, closing his eyes. "My grandpa is in that one."

"Lucky son of a bitch." Stu shook his head as he rearranged his cards. "What beats three aces again? I forget."

They all threw their cards in the center of the table. Bernie looked over his shoulder. "Robbie, we're going to need more whiskey."

Chapter 13

The doorbell rang.

Eleanor turned "The Mermaid's Journal" soundtrack off. It was probably Max at the door and the last thing she needed was for him to know she'd been dancing to his music.
 

He'd finished painting the interior of her studio.

She didn't know what to make of that. He'd said he was just doing it so she'd be happy, but it seemed more complicated than that. The only thing she knew was that he seemed to have unreasonable expectations of who she was if he thought her taking up Anya on her offer was a good idea.