"There are ordinances for disturbing neighbors. Call the building department and ask them about it."
Max stepped onto the road to avoid a puddle. "Won't that get her in trouble?"
"Maybe, but then the noise will stop. Isn't that what you want?"
"Yes." But he pictured her big hazel eyes when she found out that he'd tattled on her, and he winced.
"Max, the worst thing that'll happen is that she'll have to postpone her project a couple weeks. That's nothing," Liam assured him. "You'll get the music composed in peace and then she can resume her remodeling. You're leaving anyway. It's not like you'll ever see her again, right?"
Why did that thought make him want to punch something? "Right."
"So just call the building department. Or, you know what? I'll call them for you," Liam said. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry. It's all good."
"If you say so," Max mumbled, not sure he believed it.
Chapter 11
Eleanor sat on the back step, her dance shoes in her hands, staring alternately between the shed and the Reynolds' house.
Yesterday's incident with her next-door neighbor Max had been replaying in her head over and over since it'd happened.
It'd done more than just replay—she'd dreamed about it. Except in her dreams, she'd been wearing her ballet slippers with her robe, and Max wore nothing but a smile. His music had been playing in the background, and he'd held her in his arms and they'd danced. He led her lightly, giving her the space to twirl and twirl, freely, not restricting her or getting in her way. When she'd finally stopped spinning, she'd lifted on her toes to kiss him.
She woke up right before their lips had touched.
She stared at her dance shoes. Since Robbie had pushed her to remember her love of dancing, the longing for it had been strong. Now, since her dream, she had a longing to dance with someone again. On the dance floor and—if she were going to be honest—in bed too.
But she wasn't ready to be that honest.
Except in admitting that Max had a right to be annoyed by the commotion her work crew was causing. It wasn't her fault Travis and his team had to tear off the roof, but she'd talk to them today to ask that they be quieter if possible. For some reason, it'd really bothered her that Max had been so agitated. She'd wanted to take him in her arms to soothe him.
Not a normal impulse for her.
Nothing to do with how she felt around him was normal.
Once she got her studio going, she'd feel more settled again. She looked down at her ballet shoes. Maybe she'd even put on her shoes and dance too.
She'd probably trip over her feet. She set the shoes on the step next to her, looking up as she heard a car pull up. It was probably Travis.
But the man who came around the back wasn't her contractor. He had a metal clipboard and all sorts of papers in one hand. He wore slacks, a buttoned-up shirt, and a vest, topped off with a very serious expression, which only got more serious when he noticed her. "Are you the owner of this property?"
"Yes." She stood up. "Can I help you?"
"What's your name?" he asked, though his attention had shifted to the shed.
"I'm Eleanor Westwood."
"I'm from the building department. I'm here to inspect on a formal complaint that I received on this address. There's a claim that there's a construction project in progress."
"I'm having a little bit of remodeling done," she said carefully. Where was Travis? She glanced at the time. "It's not a construction project."
He strode over to the shed. "Looks like the roof is being replaced."
Joining him, she looked up at where he pointed. "Is that a crime?"
"Yes, if you don't have permits." He held his clipboard straight and jotted something on the top page. "Do you have a contractor?"
"Yes, Travis Scott. He should be here any minute."
"Hmm." The man wandered off toward the shed, examining the doorframe before opening it and peeking inside.
"Excuse me," she called out, hurrying after him. "Since this is my property,
Max stepped onto the road to avoid a puddle. "Won't that get her in trouble?"
"Maybe, but then the noise will stop. Isn't that what you want?"
"Yes." But he pictured her big hazel eyes when she found out that he'd tattled on her, and he winced.
"Max, the worst thing that'll happen is that she'll have to postpone her project a couple weeks. That's nothing," Liam assured him. "You'll get the music composed in peace and then she can resume her remodeling. You're leaving anyway. It's not like you'll ever see her again, right?"
Why did that thought make him want to punch something? "Right."
"So just call the building department. Or, you know what? I'll call them for you," Liam said. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry. It's all good."
"If you say so," Max mumbled, not sure he believed it.
Chapter 11
Eleanor sat on the back step, her dance shoes in her hands, staring alternately between the shed and the Reynolds' house.
Yesterday's incident with her next-door neighbor Max had been replaying in her head over and over since it'd happened.
It'd done more than just replay—she'd dreamed about it. Except in her dreams, she'd been wearing her ballet slippers with her robe, and Max wore nothing but a smile. His music had been playing in the background, and he'd held her in his arms and they'd danced. He led her lightly, giving her the space to twirl and twirl, freely, not restricting her or getting in her way. When she'd finally stopped spinning, she'd lifted on her toes to kiss him.
She woke up right before their lips had touched.
She stared at her dance shoes. Since Robbie had pushed her to remember her love of dancing, the longing for it had been strong. Now, since her dream, she had a longing to dance with someone again. On the dance floor and—if she were going to be honest—in bed too.
But she wasn't ready to be that honest.
Except in admitting that Max had a right to be annoyed by the commotion her work crew was causing. It wasn't her fault Travis and his team had to tear off the roof, but she'd talk to them today to ask that they be quieter if possible. For some reason, it'd really bothered her that Max had been so agitated. She'd wanted to take him in her arms to soothe him.
Not a normal impulse for her.
Nothing to do with how she felt around him was normal.
Once she got her studio going, she'd feel more settled again. She looked down at her ballet shoes. Maybe she'd even put on her shoes and dance too.
She'd probably trip over her feet. She set the shoes on the step next to her, looking up as she heard a car pull up. It was probably Travis.
But the man who came around the back wasn't her contractor. He had a metal clipboard and all sorts of papers in one hand. He wore slacks, a buttoned-up shirt, and a vest, topped off with a very serious expression, which only got more serious when he noticed her. "Are you the owner of this property?"
"Yes." She stood up. "Can I help you?"
"What's your name?" he asked, though his attention had shifted to the shed.
"I'm Eleanor Westwood."
"I'm from the building department. I'm here to inspect on a formal complaint that I received on this address. There's a claim that there's a construction project in progress."
"I'm having a little bit of remodeling done," she said carefully. Where was Travis? She glanced at the time. "It's not a construction project."
He strode over to the shed. "Looks like the roof is being replaced."
Joining him, she looked up at where he pointed. "Is that a crime?"
"Yes, if you don't have permits." He held his clipboard straight and jotted something on the top page. "Do you have a contractor?"
"Yes, Travis Scott. He should be here any minute."
"Hmm." The man wandered off toward the shed, examining the doorframe before opening it and peeking inside.
"Excuse me," she called out, hurrying after him. "Since this is my property,
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