Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (31 page)

He faced Robbie. "I'd like to finish the dance studio for Eleanor."

Robbie blinked, obviously shocked. "You mean the shed in the back?"

"From now on, it's her dance studio and not the shed," he stated. "And, yes. I went over there and looked at it. There's just some cosmetic work to be done, like the trim and painting and hanging mirrors."

"Why the hell would you want to do that? Don't you know Brunhilde put an end to that once and for all?"

"Brunhilde?"

"Her ex-husband's mother." Robbie shook his head. "Elle's looking to rent a space to hold her studio because she can't teach at her house."

Max shook his head. "She shouldn't be teaching anyway."

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

"I mean one of the most famous ballerinas in the world has asked Eleanor to choreograph a program for her," he said.
 

"Anya Rusokova." Robbie gazed at him intently. "What does that have to do with the shed?"

"Eleanor is going to need the
dance studio
"—he gave the man a look—"to have space to work."

"And you want to help her with it." Robbie's smile was slow but brilliant. Then he held his hand out. "I take back all the things I said about you."

"Thanks," Max said wryly, shaking the man's hand.

"Did you hear that, Jack?" Robbie said, leaning over the bar. "Max wants to finish remodeling Eleanor's dance studio. What do you think about that?"

Max faced Eleanor's father.

The man was studying him, a shrewd look in his eyes. Then he leaned past Max to look at Robbie. "I'd threaten him about hurting my daughter. Given how absent I've been in Eleanor's life, I don't have the right. I hope you've already done it."

"Sure have," Eleanor's friend said cheerfully.

Shaking his head, Max picked up his beer. "You people need help."

"Nope." Robbie held up his pint. "You're going to need help, and I'm here to lend a hand. Except for painting. I hate painting."

Chapter 5

It was the most beautiful tutu she'd ever seen.

The layers were white tulle, the kind that floated in the air as if a million fairies were holding it up. Dotted on the delicate fabric were pink flowers, the petals translucent. Even in the picture it looked magical; in person it had to be stunning.

Eleanor clicked on another view of the tutu, this time with a model wearing it. The young woman in the picture had on white heels and a strapless top. On her head there was a sparkly fascinator that simulated a bridal veil look.

This was always how she'd imagined she'd look on her wedding day: Swan Lake meets Cinderella. She'd loved her wedding dress—it'd been a beautiful princess gown. But now looking back, she realized it'd been a compromise to satisfy other people.

Specifically Charles's mother.

She'd held on to it for so long. She'd finally burned it on her anniversary a few days ago.
 

She still smelled the smoky tinge of lost hopes in the air around her.

Her phone buzzed with a new message. Closing the browser on her laptop, she reached for it to see who it was.

It was Luna, her new friend who owned the New Age store in town.
Want to go for a walk today?

Because staying at home brooding was the last thing she needed, she replied immediately.
Where and when?

They met at the reservoir an hour later. Luna was standing next to a new-looking orange Jeep in yoga pants and a pink top when she pulled up. Her hair was in a long, full ponytail high on her head, and her face lit up when Eleanor parked next to her.

"I'm so happy you were free," the woman said, coming to give Eleanor a hug after she got out of her car. "I felt like you needed to get out."

"You have no idea." She exhaled in Luna's embrace, feeling more relaxed already. They pulled apart and Eleanor smiled easily for the first time all day. "Let's go."

"It's been a week," Luna said as they started out. "I've been having trouble communicating with people. It's so weird. There's strange energy going around."
 

Eleanor thought of Lily. "Some people just make it hard."

"Like my mom." Luna gave her a look. "I love her, don't get me wrong. I know she has my best interests at heart."

"But she's difficult?"

"Oh my God, is she ever." Luna grabbed her arm suddenly. "Oh, dear. I forgot about your mom passing away. I'm sorry if I was insensitive in any way. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate my mom."

Eleanor made a face. "My daughter probably talks about me like that. The thing is, she'd be right. I don't understand what's going on in her head at all."

"What's her name?"

"Lily."

Luna nodded.
 

"I grounded her and she's been home moping," Eleanor said. "I don't know quite what to do. Debra raised my sister and me, but we didn't act out like that. I was such a different kid, because I already had a career when I was her age."

"People who act out usually just need love."

"Do I give her love before or after I strangle her?"

Luna laughed, and it sounded like chimes on the wind.
 

"Seriously though, I'm worried," Eleanor admitted as they trekked up an incline. "I had a moment this week where I was sure she was going to end up being a stripper. I've been trying to give her space but still be there for her because her father isn't, but nothing's working."

"You're being hard on yourself." Luna glanced at her. "And in the end what she does with herself is her responsibility, you know."

"But giving her a solid foundation is my responsibility." Eleanor had to swallow a fair amount of self-loathing before she could say, "I haven't been the most positive female role model either. I gave up who I was for a man."

The woman shook her head, her ponytail swinging. "You're kind and loving and generous. That's the example you've set for her. She's going to see your heart eventually, and then she'll see how big and true it is."

Tears filled Eleanor's eyes. "I'm afraid that isn't going to be enough."

Taking her hand, Luna smiled at her softly. "Love is always enough, and it always wins."
 

*
 
*
 
*

Eleanor felt both exhausted and better by the time she returned home. She parked the car, seeing the yard she'd torn up in an attempt to make a walkway for people to going to the studio.

She pulled out her phone and texted her best friend.
Want to have a planting party to fix my yard?

I'll bring the plants, you provide the booze
, was his immediate reply.
Saturday.

Smiling, she got out. Because she couldn't help herself, she took the decimated path to the back to take a look at the foiled dance studio.

Some of the resolution she'd found talking with Luna faded as she saw the hollowed out shed in the back. The roof was repaired and new, but the door was off the hinges, waiting to be refinished, and the exterior was streaked where it'd been prepped to be primed and painted.

It'd have been such a nice place to dance.

A shadow shifted inside, and there was a clap that sounded like a piece of lumber falling.

She froze.
Please don't let it be Charles again
. The last person she wanted to see was her ex-husband, particularly gloating.

She stepped forward. "Is someone in there?"

Max poked his head out of the door. "It's me."

Frowning, she walked toward him. "Have you come to torch it once and for all? I'll give you the match."

His lips quirked. "We aren't that desperate yet."

"Aren't we?" she muttered, stepping inside.

Lowering his head to hers, he kissed her until her knees were weak and she melted against him. "Desperate isn't the word for it," he said as his hands gripped the back of her shirt.
 

She angled her head to get closer. "What is the word?" she murmured between kisses.

"Harmony," he said. He lifted his head. "I want to fix this studio."

She blinked, confused by the segue. "A week ago, you wanted to stop the construction on it."

"That was two weeks ago, and I admit that the construction annoyed me a little—"

"It drove you so insane your friend complained to the building department to get it to stop," she corrected without heat. Despite what had happened, they were beyond it now and he didn't need to make up for anything.

"Liam overreacted, yes, but listen to me now." He looked her in the eye. "It's not about that."

"What's it about then?"

"It's about giving you a place to dance."

She shrugged, her heart hurting as she felt the hopelessness again. "I'm looking at places to rent. It's going to be fine."

He shrugged. "Great, but it doesn't mean you can't have this space too. What if you feel like dancing in the middle of the night? Think of how convenient this would be."

"Are you avoiding something?" She gasped, gripping his arms. "Did you hear back from your producer?"

"Not yet. And I'm not avoiding anything. I wrote this morning." He paused. "I'm working on the symphony. Maybe I can play what I wrote this morning for you some time."

She stilled. He meant the symphony he'd entitled "Eleanor" after her. He'd said she'd inspired the music, but she had a hard time believing it. It was much more strong and compelling—passionate—than she had ever been.

"Maybe the next time you come over," he said casually.

"Okay," she said without commitment.

He stared at her, but she couldn't figure out what he was thinking. Then he lifted her chin and said, "Are you free to go out with me tonight, or do you need to stay home with Lily?"

She frowned. "Like on a date?"

He smiled crookedly. "I told the kid I was going to take you out for one. I don't want her to think I'm the sort of man who doesn't follow up on his word."

A swell of emotion rose up in her chest. He barely knew her daughter, but he was more thoughtful of her than her own father was. How wonderful and awful was that?

"Hey," he said, looking into her eyes. "I didn't mean to make you cry. We can skip dinner and just have drinks if the thought of a long date upsets you so much."

She chuckled, brushing away the moisture at the corner of her eyes. "You've got a deal."

"Can I make a request?"

She looked into his eyes, which had gone half-mast, the way they did right before he kissed the breath from her. "What request?"

"Wear your hair down?" He ran a hand over her messy bun down to her neck. "I like your hair up, because the curve of your neck is sexy, but when your hair is loose, it does something to me."

She wanted to ask what, but she was afraid of the answer. So she just nodded and said, "I'll see you at eight."

Chapter 6

Max knew exactly where he was going to take Eleanor for their date. It was easy to arrange it all.

He showered ahead of time, checking the time impatiently every five minutes. He'd wanted to take her for dinner—he should have told her he'd pick her up earlier, but she had the same look she'd had when he'd played his symphony for her. Panic.