Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (4 page)

"Well?" His buddy jingled the keys. "Don't keep me hanging."

Sighing, Max held his hand out. "Actually, a couple weeks alone, without distractions or noise, seem pretty fantastic."

Liam dropped the keys in his hand. "I'll email my caretaker and have her get everything ready. How quickly are you flying out?"

He glanced at the time. "As soon as I grab underwear and a toothbrush, I guess."

Chapter 5

Debra's salt and pepper head popped up a moment before Eleanor walked into the bookstore, like she sensed Eleanor closer.

Not surprising. Her Aunt Debra had raised her, stepping in to mother her and Eliza after their mother had died. Now, Debra was more of a friend than a maternal figure.
 

Eleanor sighed. Frankly, it didn't matter that she was forty-one. She didn't take for granted being able to go crying to her aunt.

She let herself into her aunt's bookstore and walked up to the counter, where Debra stood with a manuscript. Her aunt had owned this bookstore for thirty years, from right after she'd returned to Bedford Falls to help raise her and Eliza. It made sense: her dad and her aunt were from a literary family. Jack had become an author; Debra had been a successful editor, claiming she preferred sprinkling fairy dust on other people's words. She'd opened the store because she liked people and didn't want to be stuck editing in a cave, as she always put it.

Debra set the manuscript and pen down and studied Eleanor with a shrewd gaze. "The papers arrived," she stated.

"Your sixth sense is frightening at times." She set her bag on the counter. "And, yes, I signed them and just sent them back to my lawyers."

"Are you"—her aunt pursed her lips as though searching for the right word—"relieved?"

"Definitely. And happy, and let down." She made a face. "Is that normal?"

Debra shrugged. "I don't know. I've never been married, much less divorced."

"I drank some of Charles's expensive champagne to toast and then poured the rest down the drain. That made me happy." She smiled. "Which brings me to the reason I came to see you."

"Shoot," her aunt said, giving her full attention.

"I need a contractor to do a few cosmetic things to the carriage house on my property."

Her aunt reached for her phone. "What are you planning?"

"I'm going to turn it into a dance studio." A flutter rippled her belly. From excitement or fear? She had no idea.

Debra perked up. "That's a brilliant idea, love. You love to dance."

"That ship has sailed, but I can teach." She touched her purse, feeling the outline of her dance shoes, which she'd brought along for moral support.

Her aunt's expression dimmed. "Are you sure you want to teach?"

"Should I not teach?" she asked carefully.
 

"No, I'm not saying that. It's just you've never expressed an interest in having students before."

"I'm too old to return to dance, especially since I haven't practiced in so long. What else can I do?" She thought of her ballet shoes and felt a piercing in her heart. "I have to do something. It's that or turn my house into a B&B. Can you imagine me making breakfast for guests?"

"Yes. It'd involve you giving a shot of wheatgrass and telling them to make their own eggs." Debra nodded. "Okay, I have perspective now. I'll text you a couple contractors I've heard good things about."

"Thank you." She smiled with more confidence than she felt. "I think this is going to be a good outlet for me."

"Of course it is." Debra came around the counter and enfolded her in her arms. "You love to dance. I can't believe you've gone for so long without it."

"I knew there was a lovefest going on in here," Clara said as she walked through the opening between the bookstore and the café. In her hands, she had two porcelain cups. "Can anyone join?"

"No, but you can," Debra said half-hugging her friend. "Especially if those cappuccinos are for us."

"
Breve
, a touch of honey," Clara said as she handed one over to Debra. She held the other one out to Eleanor. "Nonfat milk, no honey."

"I don't know how you drink nonfat," Debra said, humming as she sipped her coffee. "Life isn't worth living if you're not going to enjoy it."

"Cream isn't good for you," she said automatically, accepting the cup.
 

Debra made a face. "That sounds like something Charles would have said."

She blinked. It was, actually.

Clara saved her from having to say anything. "God wouldn't have made cream delicious if he didn't want us to eat it."

"Your cappuccinos are delicious, regardless," Eleanor murmured, lifting her cup. They were, because Clara cared. If Debra was like a mother, Clara was the beloved aunt. She'd been a constant in Eleanor's life since Debra had moved back to help raise them. She was always happy, always had a positive word, and always left a person feeling better. It mystified Eleanor that no one had snapped Clara up, but the woman always said that she was pickier about men than she was her coffee beans. That was saying something.

"Cheers." Her aunt held up her cup. "To new beginnings."
 

Clara leaned her hip against the counter. "What are we beginning?"
 

"Eleanor is going to start teaching ballet," Debra said.

Gasping, Clara grabbed Eleanor's arm. "That's wonderful, honey. Are you going to rent the empty space up the street where the toy store used to be?"

She shook her head. "I'm going to convert the shed in the backyard."

"She needs a contractor," Debra added.

A playful gleam lit Clara's eyes. "You know who you should hire, right? Travis Scott."
 

"Travis." Hand on her heart, Debra pretended to swoon.
 

"Travis Scott is the only name you need." Clara pulled out her phone and tapped at it. "I'll text you his info."

Eleanor held her hand up. "Maybe I should clarify what sort of contracting he does, because I just want a new floor and fresh walls."

"He'll do that and more." Clara winked at her. "And he'll look good doing it."

Debra put a finger to her chin in exaggerated contemplation. "Maybe I need my floors waxed."

"About time you admitted that. Want to go to Mama's Crowbar and pick up a couple guys tonight?" Clara nudged Eleanor. "We'll let you come too."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," Eleanor said, rolling her eyes. She hadn't been to the dive bar since the night before her wedding, with Robbie—and she still remembered the hangover. "Not that going to a bar and picking up men doesn't sound like a super time."

"To each his own." Clara shrugged.

"Going to Mama's Crowbar is the only way to see Jack these days," Debra said out of the blue.
 

"Dad goes there?" Eleanor frowned at her aunt. "Is he drinking a lot?"

Debra shook her head. "I asked Sean, and he said that Jack only ever orders a beer and a whiskey, and he doesn't even finish them half the time."

Eleanor's shoulders relaxed. Her dad had always been private, but lately calling him a recluse was an understatement.

"I'm worried about him," her aunt said, hugging herself. "I wish Eliza and Xavier would bring Martin to visit. Seeing his grandson might snap Jack out of his funk."

"Is he writing?" Clara asked.

Debra shrugged. "I can't tell. He tells me to mind my own damn business. I'd think about sending Lily over, but I don't want to put that responsibility on her shoulders. It's just not fair."

Her dad had retreated into himself when Jill, her mom, had died. Not even the caring for Eleanor and Eliza had brought him out, which was why Debra had returned.
 

They never said it out loud, but Lily looked just like her Grandmother Jill. Jack had always had a soft spot for her.

Eleanor sighed. "I don't know that Lily would cooperate anyway. She's been exerting her right to act like a bitchy teenager."

"Thank God you and Eliza didn't go through that phase. I don't know what I'd have done." Debra shuddered. "But don't sell Lily short. She may be willing to go see him, and it may be what they both need."

"What Jack needs is a swift kick you-know-where," Clara declared.

They both faced the woman and her uncharacteristically harsh opinion.

Clara lifted her chin. "It's true. He's been wallowing for thirty years. It's getting old."

That was certainly true. Sending Lily might drive him to drink though—it was certainly pushing Eleanor in that direction.

She hugged her aunt and then Clara. "Thanks for the info on Travis Scott. I'm eager to get going on this."

"You know how you can thank me?" Clara asked.

"How?"

"Text me a picture of him in his tool belt."

The two older women began giggling like teenagers.

"I'll see what I can do." Rolling her eyes, she picked up her bag and left the two women as they discussed the size of the contractor's hammer.

Chapter 6

Bedford Falls was exactly how Max imagined it: sleepy.
 

He slowed down his rental car at the town limits, checking out the local scene. "Local scene" was overstating things. The town seemed to consist of one strip of white buildings that extended for two blocks.
 

In the search he did of Bedford Falls, he found out that "It's a Wonderful Life" hadn't actually been filmed here; the town had decided to change its name in the late fifties to emulate the sentiments in the Capra movie.

He found it charming that a movie could inspire that kind of reaction. But it was a great movie. He'd watched it again on the plane as prep for the next couple weeks. Not that he expected to meet Clarence or Zuzu.

He turned into a parking space and turned off the car.

The town looked exactly like it was the set of the movie too. White painted Victorian buildings, all uniformly bright. Trees lined the sidewalk. In the center, there was a square with a patch of manicured grass with a park bench under a big oak.

Who went to sit there? He had no idea. He got out of the car and noted the barber shop. Maybe another morning. Now he needed coffee—he'd been on the red eye and up all night.
 

He found a café called "Tiptop Treats" across the street, sandwiched between a bookstore and a new age crystal shop.

The door jingled lightly as he entered.

The woman behind the counter looked up with a warm, if curious, smile. He gave her "Walking on Sunshine" for a theme song. If he had to guess, he'd have said she was in her late forties because of her radiant face and golden hair pulled back into a spunky ponytail. She wore worn jeans with a white dress shirt that hung past her hips. White was the last color Max would wear if he worked around food, but her shirt was pristine.

"The muffins are fresh out of the oven," she said as a greeting. "Get the apple carrot. It's my favorite."

He didn't eat muffins. "I came in for a coffee."

"Of course you did. I have the best coffee in town." She turned and pushed the button on a grinder, filling an espresso machine basket with grounds with chemist-like precision. "Coffee and muffins go hand-in-hand."