Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (6 page)

"What's wrong with you?" she heard him say.
 

"Nothing." She carefully opened her eyes, turning to avoid looking him in the face so he couldn't read her prurient thoughts. "Sorry about waking you up. I'll try not to yell at Lily in the morning in front of your house."

"Not my house. I'm just staying here for a few weeks." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "My friend Liam offered it to me."

She wasn't sure whether that was a relief or a disappointment. "Are you an actor too?"

He snorted. "Do I look insane? I compose."

"I love music." She forgot she was trying not to connect with him and moved toward him. As a dancer, her relationship with music was deep and involved. "What do you compose?"

"Movie scores."
 

"Would I know anything you've composed?"
 

He shifted his weight, as though he didn't want to talk about it, but he grudgingly said, "I did the score for 'The Mermaid's Journal'."

"Oh." She blinked. She liked that movie, but she couldn't remember the music at all.
 

"Listen, don't strain yourself," he said. "Most people don't pay attention to soundtracks."
 

"I do though," she said, for some reason wanting him to understand how important music was to her.

"Sure you do." He shrugged and turned to head back inside. On the porch he looked over his shoulder. With a charming half grin, he said, "You're right. It's been real."

Yes, but real what? She shook her head and returned to her wheatgrass.

Chapter 8

Liam's house felt surprisingly good. It was uncluttered and light, and it had a large music room in the back of the house, with a grand piano and an assortment of other instruments.

Not that Max had managed to compose anything new yet.
 

But he'd finally gotten his head around the score he'd done and how he wanted to change it. Despite what Eli Cohen had said, Max still couldn't bring himself to scrap it all.
 

He sat at the piano bench and closed his eyes to listen to the empty room. It was how his music came to him: out of the silence. He'd listen, and eventually a faint melody would come to him.
 

Liam had been right: Bedford Falls was a good place to listen to the silence. This house in particular was a godsend.

Godsend wasn't a word he'd normally use, but it was the right one in this case. When he woke up this morning, he had the feeling that not only would he be able to come up with a new composition in time, but that it'd be so good that it'd secure his future with the production studio. He'd be one step away from becoming the next Danny Elfman or Hans Zimmer.

Of course, if he could be like any composer, he'd be Ennio Morricone. The man was a genius. His music was pure.

Max may not be a genius like that, but he was damn good. He'd make this score work.

The strains of a song started to come in, a pale whisper in his head. He waited for it to increase in volume.

A shout from outside broke the music apart. Any hope to recover the strains was shot when enthusiastic mariachi music began to play.

He opened his eyes and went to the double doors that led outside. He swung them open and the cacophony assaulted him. Wincing, he followed the sound.

Right to his pretty neighbor's property line.

Liam's pretty neighbor—Max was leaving in a few weeks. Not that it mattered right now. What mattered was that there was a work crew in her backyard, taking debris from a little house and throwing it in a garbage bin, talking and listening to music at full volume.
 

He didn't begrudge anyone his tunes, except for when it infringed on him working.
 

But he was going to make it stop. He stalked around to the front of the house and banged on the door.

A moment later she opened the door, red cheeked and out of breath. "Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "It's you."

He got lost in the melody of her face. It was expressive and heartbreaking, like Morricone's "Love Theme" from "Cinema Paradiso". Large hazel eyes and light brown hair pulled back from her face.

Except not even that song did her justice. He frowned, trying to think of a song that'd fit her. Oddly, nothing seemed enough.

She raised her hand to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.

Distracted, he followed its motion; it was so lyrical. It made him wonder how she moved, in public and in private.

Then his gaze caught on what she wore: a pale pink leotard with paler pink tights and gray legwarmers. Her feet were bare, showing candy-painted toes. The gentle curves of her body swelled under the clingy fabric, leaving his imagination giddy. If she were a concerto, he'd have annotated her with
acceso
, because she ignited him.

"You're staring," she said, half hiding behind the door.

He couldn't help it. All the blood rushed from his head up top to his head down below, and he struggled for something to say. What came out of his mouth was, "Are you going to Jazzercise?"
 

Smooth, son,
he heard his dad comment.

"No." She frowned at him. "I was thinking of dancing."

A crash from the back jarred him back into the moment. Frowning, he pointed. "What's going on back there?"

"I'm doing a cosmetic makeover on the shed in the back." She smiled brightly. "I'm turning it into a dance studio."

Super. He raked a hand through his hair. "How long is the noise going to last?"

She made a tentative face. "Not long? They said they'd be done pulling the debris out in a couple days."

A couple days
. He gritted his teeth.
 

"After that, it's going to be just a week of work," she said quickly, as if she could sense he was annoyed. "And it'll be inside the shed, so you shouldn't hear any of it."

"You can't promise that."

Biting her lip, she shook her head. "No, but I'll ask them to be respectful of your space. I'll go talk to them now."

He just nodded, not sure what she could say that'd make a difference. "Two days?"

"Two days," she assured him, nodding. "I promise."

He stared at her, ruthlessly keeping his gaze above her collarbone. He saw complete earnestness in her expression, and for some reason he believed her.
 

Two days. He could live with the racket for two days. Concentrating was another matter though. Especially if she was going to be around dressed like that.

Chapter 9

"Want some wheatgrass?" Eleanor held out a small shot glass of bright green liquid to Robbie.

He shook his head as he went into the refrigerator and got out a carton of milk. "I don't know why you drink that stuff."

"It'll keep you young." It was what Charles used to tell her all the time.

"Bullshit," Robbie said succinctly. "That stuff is nasty."

She frowned at the glass. Things that were good for you often were. Wrinkling her nose, she downed it.
 

Her best friend arched his brow at her. "I'm going to make myself a cappuccino. You want one?"

"I'll make it," she said, taking the carton from his hands. "You make a mess with the milk."

Grinning, he pulled out his favorite mug from the cabinet above and set it on the counter next to her. "I knew all those years of being a calculated mess were going to pay off."

She rolled her eyes as she poured milk to be steamed.
 

"What are you listening to?" Robbie propped himself against the counter next to her. "I like it a lot."

"The soundtrack to 'The Mermaid's Journal'." She'd downloaded it right after she found out her neighbor had composed it. She'd been hooked on the spot. It was at times drifting and dreamy, but also strong and forceful. It made her body sway like it hadn't been tempted to in so long.

She'd looked for his name, of course. Amadeus Ravel Massimo. That was some name. Of course, he was a lot of man. If anyone could carry it, it was him.
 

There was a knock at the back door. Her heart started to beat fast. Was it her neighbor? She went to open it, wiping her hands on her pants.

But it wasn't. It was just Travis Scott.

She tried not to be disappointed, which was saying something because Debra and Clara were right: Travis was pretty to look at. His muscles had muscles. Somehow, she wasn't tempted to touch them.

Amadeus Ravel Massimo, however, she could have touched all day—and night.

She cleared her throat. "Everything okay?"

Travis shook his head. "We have a hiccup."

"Hiccups end pretty quickly though," she said cautiously.

"Unless you have the kind of hiccups that go on for days," Robbie interjected as he added sugar to his cappuccino. "Remember in seventh grade when Joe Dorian got the hiccups? He had them for three days. Mr. Roberts in history class made him sit outside because he was so disruptive to class."

She narrowed her eyes at Robbie. "You're not being helpful."

"Just saying." He held his hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger."

She faced Travis. "Are these hiccups going to last for days?"

"I uncovered rot."

"So the answer is yes," Robbie said, lifting his cup to his mouth.

She ignored her so-called best friend and focused on her contractor. "What does that mean?"

"You want the good news first, or the bad news?"

"Oh geez." She put a hand to her forehead. "There's bad news?"

"There were a few leaks in the roof. The good news is that the building will be fine once it's reroofed, and you only need new drywall in a few places. The floor is still solid."

She slumped against the counter. "That's the good news?"

"Yeah. The bad news is that putting on a new roof is going to take longer than we expected, and it's going to add to the cost." He made a face. "But I can get you a deal on the materials. The work will all be to code, and it's still a relatively small job, but you should think about having me pull permits for this."

"Is it going to be expensive?" she asked, biting her lip as she thought of her bank account.
 

Travis shrugged. "Kind of. It might take a while too, which could put me off my schedule. I have another job starting in a couple weeks, and I'd have to stop working this if it gets pushed back more than it is."

"Okay." She exhaled deeply. "How much longer do you think it'll take?"

He scratched his chin. "Depends on when the materials can be delivered, but I'd say it should only take a couple weeks. I can do the other work simultaneously, if you're okay with that."

"Do the work," she said. She'd waited eighteen years to do this—another two weeks wouldn't be the end of the world.

"And the permits?"

"Have you ever had an issue when you didn't pull permits?" she asked.

"No."
 

"Then go ahead without them."
 

"Are you sure?" Robbie said, looking at her with trepidation.