Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (37 page)

Talk about setting herself up to fail.
 

Shaking her head, she padded to the front and opened the door, startled to see Anya standing there in her big sunglasses and designer coat.

"You really are terrible, you know, making me drive all this way to see you," the ballerina said as she swept into the house. "Oh good, you're already dressed."

Eleanor looked down at her workout clothes and ballet shoes. "No, I'm not."

"You are for my purposes." Anya strode into the living room, zeroing in on Eleanor's phone and the cable connecting it into the stereo. She unplugged it and plugged her own phone in. She swiped the screen a few times and then turned around, an imperious expression on her face. "Listen."

"Like I have a choice." Rolling her eyes, she plopped onto the couch, which she'd pushed aside while she was dancing.
 

The music began to play, beguiling and wonderful. It was a short piece, different than what Anya had sent her before. It was only a few minutes long, and it left a person wanting more. By the end of the song, Eleanor was sitting up, her eyes closed, caught in the flow of the movement.

When she opened her eyes, she found Anya staring at her with satisfaction. Her friend pointed at her. "You will choreograph a dance for this song, for me. I won't take no for an answer."

Eleanor huddled back into the couch. "You're so mean."

"I know." The woman raised her brows. "You can curse me, but you'll give me a dance, and then we'll all be happy, and I'll forgive you for being a silly girl."

She didn't know whether to run screaming or to throw her arms around the dancer, so she wrapped her arms around herself instead. "I'm not sure why you think I'd be good at this."

"Instinct." Anya shrugged. "And maybe I'd like to think if the situation was reversed, you'd insist I'd get my head out of my ass like I'm doing for you."

"I love you too," she said with a flat look.

"I know." Anya nodded regally. "Make me look glorious, darling. By Wednesday."

"Wednesday!" Eleanor sat up. "That's in two days."

"Because I can't make it back tomorrow." The woman smiled and swept out of the room.

She opened her mouth to say she wasn't going to do it, but the front door closed emphatically.
 

By Wednesday. Eleanor squeezed herself, the pit of her stomach clenching.

*
 
*
 
*

"I'm freaking out," Eleanor said an hour later when she walked into Luna's store.

The storeowner came around the counter and hugged her. Luna wore a long printed skirt and a white peasant top, looking more like she was out of a historical novel than a metaphysical shopkeeper. Her expression, like always, was serene but lit with happiness.

Letting go of Eleanor, the woman locked the front door before going to the archway between her shop and Clara's to block the entrance with a thick red rope. "Come back. You can freak out in private back there."

Eleanor sighed in relief. She couldn't go talk to Max—she knew where he stood regarding Anya's offer and she couldn't bear to face the look in his eyes. She'd thought of going to see Debra, but she detoured into Crystal Clear at the last minute.

Like the other times she'd visited the New Age shop, she immediately felt a sense of peace and calm come over her. Zen music played in the background, and the faint scent of smoky lavender hung in the air all the way to the cozy kitchenette in the back of the shop.

"I'll make us tea while you tell me why you're freaking out." Luna glanced over her shoulder, tossing her long hair out of the way. "Unless you'd rather not talk about it, in which case I'll just hold your hand while you have a meltdown."

"No, talking is probably a good idea." She briefly described her backstory, leading all the way up to Anya's offer.
 

Luna listened attentively, never interrupting, her gaze steady on hers. When Eleanor finished, the woman said, "This is exciting."

"It's really not." She shook her head, lifting her teacup. "You guys don't understand."

"Which guys?"

"You, Robbie, Max." She held the warm beverage close, for comfort. "Choreographing is brutal."

"And it seems like your friend is giving you a gentle way in." Luna tipped her head. "What does Max think?"

"He painted my dance studio in the back." Just the thought of it made something in her heart catch. "Who does that?"

"The bastard," Luna said with a grin. "What color did he paint it?"

"Yellow. The exterior is still only primed, but I bet he has plans to finish it. I haven't known him long, but I know he wouldn't abandon a project before he completed it."

"That's a nice trait, especially in the man you love."
 

"I don't love him." Eleanor shook her head vehemently. "No."
 

Luna leaned forward, studying her. After a long, searching pause, she said, "Yes, you do."

"Do you see something on my face?" She clapped her hands to her cheeks, trying to hide it. She couldn't be in love.

"It's all over you." The woman made a circular gesture with her hand. "Your voice changes when you talk about him, and your eyes go soft. Truthfully, when I saw you two together, it was so obvious. Your auras were blended into this really wonderful rainbow bubble. I've only seen that once or twice before." Her tone went wistful. "My grandparents had it."

"And your parents?"

"Geez, no." Luna made a face. Then she refocused. "What's stopping you from accepting that you love Max?"

"I just got a divorce." Her heart began to pound as she thought about what it meant to be in love. Love led to marriage and loss. She'd done that once, and she was fine, but her heart wouldn't survive losing Max, which was going to happen. She couldn't hold him back from realizing his dreams. He might say he wanted to stay, but he'd feel differently in a few years. She knew too well how that was.

Luna shook her head. "Most marriages that end in divorce are over long before. The divorce isn't what you're mourning."

"Then what am I mourning?" she asked, her voice higher pitched in her panic.

"The death of
you
." Luna raised her hand. "I've been there. I totally get it. You're sad about the parts of yourself that you gave up in exchange for the relationship. You're worried you'll do it again. You're worried that there isn't enough of
you
left for someone to love, because you don't love yourself."

Eleanor put a hand to her chest, rubbing the sore spot that Luna's words hit like a bull's eye. "You don't pull punches."

"If you wanted someone who pulled punches, you'd have gone to someone else. You came to me because you know I'm honest and that I care." Luna leaned forward. "Which brings us back to this opportunity to choreograph."

"It does?" She shook her head to clear it.

"Yes, because this is exactly what you need to be reborn. To show yourself that you're worthy." Luna stood up. "I have something for you."

She followed the woman back into the store. Luna went behind the counter, pulled out a drawer, and came back with her hand out.

Eleanor opened her hand and looked at the small blue stone Luna dropped on her palm. "It looks like turquoise."

"Yes. The stone of self-forgiveness, self-acceptance, and the release of useless regrets." Luna grinned. "It's also good for panic attacks, especially if they happen during non-business hours."

She turned it over in her palm. The stone meant more than that: it meant she had a friend who listened to her and cared. She closed her fingers on it and looked into Luna's eyes. "Thank you."

The woman nodded solemnly. "Life is giving you another chance, Eleanor. When we turn chances away, they come around less often. So reach for your happiness. All of it's yours, if you want it."

Clenching the turquoise, she swallowed the fear that lodged in her throat. "I want it," she whispered.

Luna smiled. "Then let it happen. It's already yours."

Chapter 14

The contract from the production company arrived mid-morning from FedEx.
 

Max opened the package and held his biggest dream in his hands. To work with Duggan Richter was all he wanted.

At least, it was before he met Eleanor.

He flipped through the pages, scanning the document, and then he set it aside. He should have been doing a jig around the kitchen. He should have been yawping like he'd just won an Oscar.

He wasn't. He couldn't even muster a faint amount of enthusiasm. He picked up his cold coffee and took a bitter sip.

Making a face, he set the cup down and reached for his phone to do what he always did when he needed a sounding board: he called his dad. "Are you busy?" he asked when his dad picked up.

"You know I'm never busy for you, son," his dad said. "Your timing is perfect. I have a student coming by for counseling in an hour. What do you need?"

"They liked the edited movie score I sent in." He glanced at the contract. "They offered me a deal to compose for three more movies with Duggan Richter."

"That's fabulous, Max! You've been working hard to make it happen, and now that hard work is paying off. It's your dream come true."

He nodded, frowning out the window toward the house next door. "That's why I'm calling."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "What's her name, and how long have you loved her?"

He smiled. "Does it have to be that?"

"For you, yes," his dad said with utter conviction. "You wouldn't consider turning down this offer unless you were in love."

"Her name is Eleanor. You know the music I sent you to listen to?"

"It's true? You're in love?" A crash sounded on the other end, like something clattered to the ground. "You wrote that song for her," his dad exclaimed. "I should have known. Your mother would have known the second she heard the song if she'd listened to it."

Sure, Mom had a sixth sense that was uncanny—it made her an excellent therapist. But she was hardly psychic. "Why do you think that?"
 

"She'd have heard your heart in it the same way as I did, but she's smarter than I am about feelings. She'd have known what inspired your heart to start beating like that. Or rather, who." His dad paused. "She must be lovely to inspire that kind of music. You're a lucky man, son. As another man who's been lucky enough to have a woman like that, hold on to her with all you have."

He touched the contract. "You aren't going to tell me I'm crazy to think about turning down best thing that's ever happened to my career?"

"You'd only be crazy if you denied your music, and if what you've composed is any indication, you're on a higher path regarding that. Love changes everything, son. Eleanor inspires you to be better than any director ever could."

That was the great thing as well as what scared the shit out of him. "She just got divorced, Dad. She's not looking for a relationship."

"Son, a lot of people aren't looking for love when it strikes, but only a fool would turn it away. Any woman who inspires the kind of music you wrote can't be a fool. Have you told her you love her?"

He exhaled. "I've been trying to work out how I feel."

"Now that we've worked it out, you should tell her. Music is important, but words are too. Lyrics makes songs unforgettable."

Thinking of Lily, he smiled. "Her daughter would agree with you."

"She has a daughter?"

"She's sixteen," Max said. "She's smart and funny. And sweet, although she'd bite my head off if I said that in public."

His dad laughed. "I love her already. Your mother's been whimpering about wanting grandchildren. How clever of you to give her one so quickly."

Stella Massimo never whimpered about anything, but Max couldn't point that out over the huge lump in his throat. He'd never imagined Lily as his daughter. The thought of it tugged at a longing he hadn't realized existed.
 

"Send me a photo of her," his dad said, oblivious of his sentimentality. "And call your mother. She worries about you. I love you, son."