Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (5 page)

He watched her set a paper cup under the espresso spout to catch the dark liquid before she efficiently steamed milk. She hunched over, her backside wiggling before she turned and set the cup in front of him. "Wait a sec and I'll get your muffin."

He didn't want a cappuccino—he wanted a black coffee, the kind that'd strip paint. He stared at the graceful swan she'd designed in the foam, at a loss.

"Here you go." She handed him a little white bag. "On the house, because this is your first time in here."

Not knowing what to do, he took it and the milky beverage. "How do you know that?"

"I remember everyone." She smiled kindly at him. "Try it. It may be just what you need."

He guessed anything was better than nothing, so he nodded and mumbled "Thank you" as he walked out of the café.

He'd intended to go directly to Liam's house, but he found himself walking to that bench in the center of the green to sit down.

Sighing, he steeled himself as he took a sip of the cappuccino. He blinked, and then took another sip. It was creamy, yes, but underneath it was dark and rich and smooth. Surprised at how good it was, he carefully had some more, looking at the white bag.

Why not? He opened it and took a bite of the muffin.

It was one of the most delicious things he'd ever eaten. He devoured it, and then wondered if he should go back for another.

But his phone rang, and it was his dad so he answered it. "I listened to your composition," Leo said.

"And?" Max asked, feeling his shoulders tense.

"If someone else had written it, I'd have said it was excellent," his dad said.
 

"But because I wrote it?"

His dad hesitated. "You don't want me to sugarcoat it, do you?"

He winced. "It's that bad?"

"Not at all. Like I said, it'd be excellent if it were by anyone else. But it's by you, and I know what you're capable of, and this isn't it."

"What is it?"
 

"Safe," his dad declared.
 

He ran a hand over his head. "So I really do have to rewrite it all?"

"Not at all." There was the sound of pages flipping. "I made a few notes. I can read them to you or have Stella take pictures and text them."

Leo Massimo left modern technology up to his wife. Max smiled ruefully. "Just give me the general gist of your critique."

"It's lacking heart," his dad said. "You need to add some emotion and movement to it. What are you feeling?"

"Right now? Frustrated."
 

"Then write it into your composition. You can do it, son. You're like your father."

That made him smile. "Modestly speaking?"

"Of course. Call your mother, she worries about you. Love you, son," Leo said before he hung up.

Smiling, he put his phone away. His dad's comments should have stung, but more than anything they gave him hope. He could add more movement and emotion to the music—it gave him a direction to take.
 

The sharp cawing of Northern American teenagers distracted him from his thoughts.
 

Glancing to the left, he winced when he saw the gaggle of girls headed his way. It was a relief when they broke off—all except one, who kept walking in his direction.

He didn't find kids foreign the way a lot of the people who worked around him did. He supposed it was because of his family. He'd always believed he'd have a couple himself.
 

Of course, it hadn't worked out yet. Finding the right woman had proven to be more challenging than he'd expected, and his parents had always told all three of them to wait for the right person.

Once, he'd thought he'd found the perfect woman. She was also a musician and understood his passion, but she was given the chance at a dream job and left him to go pursue it. Of course she had—he wouldn't have expected less.
 

Sometimes he saw kids and felt the longing to hold his own. He told himself there was still time—thirty-nine for a man wasn't old at all. He studied the teenager, who'd stopped a safe distance from him, next to the oak, wondering what it'd be like to have a daughter.
 

The girl was texting, looking up occasionally as if she were waiting for someone. She wore an outfit that looked like she was going out clubbing, even though it was daytime, and more makeup than a drugstore carried.
 

He didn't have to think hard to pick a song for her; it was obviously "Owner of a Lonely Heart". Just watching her made him feel lost by osmosis.

Her head lifted, and she glared at him as she edged closer to the tree. "Why are you staring at me? Are you a creeper?"

"It could be because you've got clown makeup on," he replied.

She recoiled. "What did you say?"

He nodded at her face. "The stage paint you're wearing. I was staring because I thought you were about to break out into song and dance."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're kind of a dick."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, kid?" He shrugged.

"You obviously don't have children," she said, her cute button nose high in the air.

"I think I'd like to, but then I see teenagers and I have second thoughts." She looked so put out that he couldn't help grinning as he stood. "See ya, kid," he said as he walked back to his rental car.

Oddly, the exchange perked him up. Maybe he was becoming a crotchety old man. Shrugging, he started the car and headed to his residence for the next three weeks.

Chapter 7

"You aren't seriously going to open a dance school, are you?"
 

Ignore the brat, Eleanor told herself as she snipped wheatgrass to juice. If only her child's disdain wasn't so cutting. She bit her lip and counted to ten, and then she counted to twenty.
 

"I mean, do you even remember how to dance?"
 

"
Lily
." She turned around, her hand gripping the grass, and glared at her daughter.

The brat shrugged as she opened the refrigerator and took out a container of orange juice. "It's a valid question. I can't picture you prancing around in a tutu."

Why the hell not? She scowled at her daughter. "Your faith in me is staggering."

Lily opened the orange juice and drank from it. Her gaze dared Eleanor to say something.

She shook her head. She wasn't going to fall for the taunting. Not today. Today Travis Scott, the contractor, arrived bright and early and had started measuring and making plans for her studio.
 

He'd recommended that she have him pull permits, but he said whether they did was up to her because the job was small and her property wasn't directly in town, so it shouldn't be an issue if she wanted to save money.

Saving money was essential. During the divorce, Charles had hidden funds to keep her from getting her share. A punishment for wanting to leave him, she knew. She'd let the anger from that go—mostly. She just had to make sure she lived frugally until she started earning money.
 

Travis gave her a rough estimate that was just in her budget and promised her the work was simple and wouldn't take longer than a week.
 

A week! In a week she'd have her dance space. She couldn't believe it was going to be so fast.

"Later," Lily said, leaving the orange juice on the counter.

"Where were you raised? A barn? Put the juice away."

Huffing, she trudged back, put the carton away, and slammed the fridge.
 

Sighing, Eleanor set the wheatgrass in the sink and followed her daughter out. "You know, you could try to be more kind."

Lily mumbled something.

Probably nothing she needed to hear. She remembered when Lily was born and the wonder she'd had over the perfect little being she'd created. She felt a loss over the distance that had grown between them.
 

She rubbed her tight chest as they physically got further apart. She had to do something, but she had no idea how to reach her daughter. So she improvised with, "I volunteered you to be my first student. Tell your friends."

That stopped Lily in her tracks. She whirled around, her big blue eyes popping from behind all the eyeliner she wore. "
What?
"

"You heard me." She'd actually said the right thing! But she feigned nonchalance, because she knew that'd irritate the hell out of the kid. "What color tutu do you want? A pink one?"

"Hell no," the teenager yelled. Two red spots appeared on her cheeks and she walked back toward the house.

Eleanor remembered when the school bus would drop her little girl off and she'd come running into her arms. That was so long ago.
 

Lily wasn't running back to her in joy now. Still, it was better than the silent apathy that Eleanor usually received.
 

"One"—Lily held up a finger—"I will not take dance classes. Two, I won't
ever
wear a tutu."

"What the hell is going on?" came a masculine growl.

She and Lily both froze, looking toward the property next door and the man charging out of the house.

Most of the houses in their neighborhood were spaced out. The only two houses that were close to each other were hers and the Reynolds' house. Except the Reynolds' moved out a couple years ago after living there for twenty years and Liam McCullough, the actor, had bought the property.

She'd only seen Liam once since he'd bought the house. He'd been on his phone, but he'd smiled and waved at her nonetheless. The only way it could have been better was if he'd been bare-chested, like he was in his movies.

This man wasn't Liam McCullough, but she wouldn't have minded seeing him bare-chested either. He was tall, with dark hair that needed a trim. The way his face was chiseled she figured his body had to be too, even though she couldn't really tell from his jeans and long-sleeved shirt.
 

She wouldn't have minded unbuttoning the shirt to find out.
 

If Lily weren't there, she would have been tempted to flirt with him, if she could remember how. She hadn't felt this sort of rush about a man in a long time. Not even Travis Scott, with his muscular frame and tool belt, had inspired any urges like this. No one had—not since Charles.

Oh hell no.

She took a step back, her eyes widening. The last thing she needed was another man like that, especially after she'd just gotten rid of the one she'd had. Had he bought the house next door? Because that'd be awfully inconvenient.

"You," Lily and the man both exclaimed, scowling at each other.

She glanced between the two. "You know each other?"

"We go way back," the man said.

She moved in front of her kid.
 

"Geez, Mom. Relax." Lily rolled her eyes. "I'm going to school. Later."

They both watched her leave. Then Eleanor faced him again. "Should I be concerned that you know my
sixteen
-year-old daughter?"

He frowned at her. "I'd think you should be more concerned that she's going to use up the world's supply of makeup."

Eleanor sighed. Lily
did
wear too much makeup. "I think she fantasizes about running off and joining a circus. The thing is, sometimes I'm tempted to give her a trapeze and a train ticket."

The man grinned at that, his face lighting up.

She gaped, feeling like she'd received a surprise gift. Something about him was so appealing…

Then again, she hadn't had sex in longer than she cared to admit. She and Charles had stopped being intimate long before they'd split up. The thing was: she hadn't cared. She hadn't missed the sex at all.

Now, she saw this man's mussed hair and sheet-creased face and had to stop herself from picturing him waking her with his touch.

She took a step back. "Well, it's been real."
 

"That's it?" he asked, his frown returning. "You're going to wake me up and then leave?"

"Yes." She squeezed her eyes shut against the image of him naked in bed with her. Not even covering them with her hands kept her from seeing it, though.