Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (19 page)

"You're staring," Lily said without lifting her head.

"It's hard not to when you're dressed like a hooker."

Her head popped up, and she glared at him like she was willing him to die. "That was
so
rude."

He tucked away the notepad in his coat pocket. "Then don't dress like you're about to troll the streets. I'm sure your mom buys you normal clothes. Unless she's hiring you out to pay off her mortgage or something."

Slamming her notebook shut, Lily gave him the evil eye. "If you think this is charming, it's not working."

"If you think that's sexy"—he pointed to her outfit—"it's working even less than my charm. Is this for the benefit of that boy you're seeing?"

Her face went blank. "I'm not seeing any boy."

Max raised his brow. "So what's up with the guy whose car you got into the other day? I know it wasn't your dad."

"That'd be a stretch." She crossed her arms and pouted, which made her look like a sad little girl.

He had the urge to buy her a pony to make her happy again. Maybe he was the one who needed help. "I thought your dad was around the other day."

She shrugged one shoulder. "I wouldn't know."

That guy really was a fucker if he came around and didn't stop to see his own kid. If Max had a kid, he'd do whatever he could to spend time with her, even if she was a bratty teenager.
Especially
if she was a bratty teenager who shopped at Fredrick's Of Hollywood.
 

Anger for this little girl sparked his blood. He leaned forward so she looked him in the eye. "Don't let yourself fall between the cracks."

She leaned forward too, sniffing. "Are you drunk?"

"Listen. This is important." He waited to make sure he had her attention. "My dad always told us that where we ended up in life and who noticed us was up to us. He'd say 'don't let yourself fall between the cracks'."

"Oo-kay," the kid replied, looking at him like he was speaking in tongues.

He pointed at her. "Don't let yourself fall between the cracks. If your parents aren't paying attention to you, tell them. Stand up for yourself."

"Right." She rolled her eyes.

"If you want to write, then write and make it count." He crossed his arms and sat back. "Or are you going to be one of those people who whines about how life isn't fair?"
 

"FYI, life isn't fair," she told him, standing up. She hitched her bag on her shoulder, glaring at him. "And you don't know anything about me."

"I know you have a sassy mouth and are lonely," he said, not backing down. "I know your mom loves you, but you two don't seem to be able to communicate. I know your dad sucks, and I know you want to write but don't have the guts."

Her eyes narrowed, her knuckles white from gripping her bag. "You suck."

"Yeah, but at least I'm honest with myself." He raised his brow. "I'm not sure you can say the same thing."

She shot him one last glare before she flounced off.
 

Max watched her trudge off, defiance in every girlish step. He wondered if she was going home, and if he should call Eleanor to tell her what had happened. Was Lily going to see that boy, and did Eleanor know about him?

He got his cell phone out and started to call Eleanor.

Not his circus, not his monkey, he reminded himself again, putting his phone away. Eleanor had been doing this much longer than he had. She didn't need his help, no matter how much he wanted to give it.
 

*
 
*
 
*

Max sat on the bench and listened to the sound of Bedford Falls for a while longer. When the sun started to set, he decided it was probably time to go home.

Only he didn't want to beat his head against the wall over the movie score, which was likely what he was going to do. Neither did he want to spend another evening alone. He was pretty sure Eleanor wouldn't want to come over and play house.

He made a face and turned in the direction of the only bar in town.

Though technically it wasn't really in town—it was just on the edge before the village green. He hadn't gone there yet, but tonight seemed as good a time as any to check it out. For a second he debated going home to get his car, but that wasn't logical if he was going to have a drink.
 

The dive bar was exactly how he'd pictured it: neon Budweiser logo, dingy windows, and a faded sign that read Mama's Crowbar.

He walked inside and pulled out a seat at the bar next to an older man with graying hair and lines etched at the downturned corners of his mouth. In front of the man there was an untouched beer and a full shot of whiskey. Instead of drinking, the man stared at a baseball game on the small TV mounted in the corner. If Max were going to give him a song, it'd be "Like a Stone."

The bartender wandered over with a reserved smile. "What can I get you?"

"A Guinness," he decided after a quick review of what they had on tap. He watched the bartender carefully build the Guinness, which was a surprise because so few people took time to do things right anymore. Max would assign him "Only Fools Rush In" just based on that.

"Here you go, buddy." The bartender slid it across the bar and told him how much it was. After Max gave him a bill, the man handed back the change and said, "You new to Bedford Falls? You've never been in here before."

Max shook his head. "I'm never going to get used to that."
 

The man grinned. "The charms of living in a small town. I'm Sean. I own this joint. Welcome."

"Max. Nice to meet you." He returned the man's firm grip.
 

"Did you buy the old farmhouse on Route 122?" Sean asked, arms folded, leaning against the bar.

"I'm staying at a friend's for a bit, to get some work done uninterrupted." Max drank some of his beer. Because he knew what the next question would be, he mentioned the name of the street.

"It must be the old Reynolds house." The bartender nodded. "You live next to Eleanor."

He arched his brow. Of course Sean knew her; it was a small town. But the delighted gleam in the man's eyes made Max less than happy.
 

Actually, it made him want to punch the guy. Which was crazy, because in a couple weeks he'd be back in LA, and Eleanor could do whatever she wanted.

That thought pleased him even less. He frowned into his beer.
 

"Max lives next to Eleanor, Jack," Sean said to the older man who still hadn't touched his drinks. "This is Eleanor's dad."

He looked up to find the man taking a measure of him. Max studied the man back, trying to find something of Eleanor in him, but he couldn't. This man was a dirge where Eleanor was music that exulted. Hope radiated from Eleanor; her father had nothing but despair clinging to him. "You're the writer," Max finally said, extending his hand.

"Some say," was what the older man said, without moving. Just when Max was about to withdraw his hand, the man gripped it. "Jack Westwood."
 

He knew, but he didn't say that. "Max Massimo."

"You know I'm a writer." The older man's gaze was a challenge. "What do you do, Max?"

"I'm a composer."

"Jack won a Pulitzer for fiction," Sean interjected.

Max nodded. "That's a big accomplishment."

"It was a fluke," Jack said in a flat voice, picking up his whiskey and swirling it in the glass.
 

Max glanced at Sean, who raised his brows and edged away to get someone else's drink. He turned back to Eleanor's father. "You must be proud of your granddaughter."

The man didn't let on that he was aware, but suddenly he asked, "You've met Lily?"

Max snorted. "She and I go way back."

The older man turned toward him, his expression hard and pointed. "Just what does that mean?"

He leaned back in surprise. "You care about the kid."

Westwood frowned. "She's my granddaughter."

"She didn't give me the impression that you two see each other often," Max said as impartially as he could, trying not to let his feelings seep into the conversation. It wasn't his business if this man was stupid enough not to pay attention to his granddaughter, just like it wasn't his business if the men in Lily's life were assholes.

Pissed the hell out of him though.

Jack frowned at him. "What do you know of Lily?"

"More than you know, I bet. Like that she has a passion for writing that's rare." He shrugged as if he didn't care, lifting his pint. "Maybe you should ask her about it."

The older man looked at him with a narrowed gaze. "You care about her, too."

"She's an okay kid." Lily was more than okay, and if Jack Westwood didn't see that, he was a bigger bastard than Max guessed. "Eleanor did a good job. Lily's father definitely isn't a prize."

"He was always a jackass," the older man stated, relaxing back against the stool.

"Eleanor calls him a fucker."

"That's a fair assessment of Charles Fehr." Jack's gaze focused on him. "What does my daughter mean to you?"

He polished off his beer and stood. "Why don't you ask Eleanor?"

A cloud passed over the man's expression.

Max almost felt sorry for him. "It's never too late," he said as he turned to leave.

Chapter 9

There was a knock on Eleanor's back door.

She looked up from her laptop, her heart leaping. Max? She got up to answer, tugging her tank down at the hem and then up at the top to make sure she wasn't showing too much breast.

Smiling, hoping he'd kiss her, she swung open the door.

It was only Travis Scott, her general contractor.

Eleanor tried to keep her smile bright, despite her disappointment. "Everything okay, Travis?"

He nodded, leaning in the doorway. "The roof should be done this week, and then we'll put the finishing touches on the interior. The whole thing should be finished by the end of next week at the very latest."

She perked up. "That's great. In time for your next job."

"I wanted to make sure it worked out." He smiled.

It did nothing for her. But when she thought of Max's smile, her heart melted just a little.
 

Not that she needed to think of Max's smile right now. She had to get back to setting up the website for her new dance studio. "Thanks, Travis. If you need anything, let me know."

"Will do." He paused for a moment. "Nice music, by the way."

She felt her face get warm. "It's a soundtrack," she said simply. Because no one needed to know that she'd been listening to Max's score for "The Mermaid's Journal" on repeat.
 

"I like it," Travis said, smiling again before he went back to the shed.
 

She liked it too, she thought as she closed the door and returned to the kitchen table where her work was spread out. But she liked the composer more.

Thoughts of Max led to thoughts of kissing Max, and then trying to get her website to do what she wanted became impossible, so she decided to check her email. Most of it was spam, except for an email from Anya.

Download the music, and stop playing coy. I know you want to work with me on this ballet. It's your destiny.

~ A

Her destiny? Eleanor shook her head. It was no wonder that Anya was one of the most famous ballerinas of the time; not only was she an accomplished dancer, but she also had a definite flare for drama.

Eleanor started to delete the email, but curiosity made her pause. It couldn't hurt to listen to the music. It didn't mean she was committing to anything, regardless of what Anya believed.

She clicked the link and downloaded the files. She hit play on the first song.

It started with verve, boldness, and relentless. Just like Anya, she thought with a smile.

But, just like Anya, there were facets and layers to the music. It slowed to a haunting melody and then picked up with energetic enthusiasm.
 

Eleanor couldn't help herself. Standing, she kicked off her shoes and began moving in rhythm to the music. She did a turn, mindful of the kitchen table, her body undulating and swaying to the waves of emotion.