The Maestro and the Roofer (A Dash of Desire #3)

Chapter 2

TWO

The Daymont Tavern was one of the few establishments open year-round. Many of the restaurants and lounges lining the coast were seasonal, closing at the end of September and reopening in early May. But the Daymont Tavern—or the DT, as it was known by many—was the place for townies. Those in a certain socioeconomic bracket, at least. The wealthy locals imbibed at the Club House located in the exclusive members-only Daymont Yacht Club, but the working-class residents drank at the DT.

Since she lacked a guest pass to the yacht club, the DT was her only option for a night out. The roofing crew’s departure had left her feeling strangely bereft, and cabin fever had commenced. Eager to get out for a while, she showered, dressed, and then drove the short distance over to the DT.

A compact and unassuming one-story brick building, the tavern contained a weathered green awning boasting the name and date established: Daymont Tavern. Family owned and operated since 1919. A battered sign announced more parking in the rear, but a lone spot was free up front. Mia parked her rental car and walked to the entrance.

Inside, the DT was no different from any other pub in America. Soft and soulful yacht rock played over the sound system, the tunes blending into the lively chatter. The bar was modest, with only ten rickety stools, and several high-top tables were indeterminately placed around the room. A pool table sat in the back right corner, with three dartboards affixed to the nearby wall. The floor was sticky, and the place smelled like fried food and cheap liquor, but an undeniable homelike quality filled the air.

Heads swiveled to appraise her where she stood at the entrance. Although she’d dressed down—jeans, slate-gray sweater, and white sneakers—she still stuck out like a sore thumb. This place catered to regulars, and she had outsider written all over her.

Her heart bounced frantically at the sight of one particular regular.

The roofer. Boss Man.

He stood at the dartboards with a buddy, his hoodie draped across the nearest high-top table. A plain black T-shirt encased his torso, and a tattoo peeked out from under the sleeve on his left arm, although she was too far away to decipher the design.

His eyes immediately found hers, but she deflected her gaze before the moment transformed into something more. Sadly, it wasn’t quick enough to stop her libido from rearing its ugly head, and a dull throb emerged between her legs.

Focus, Mia. You’re here for dinner and drinks, not roguish men and bad decisions.

Holding to that resolve, Mia sat at the bar. An older woman in her fifties was slinging drinks for customers. Between her frizzy bleach-blond hair and leathered skin that hinted at a youth sans sunscreen, it was evident this woman was a no-nonsense broad. One perfectly penciled-on eyebrow rose as she approached Mia, throwing the food menu onto the sticky wooden bar top.

“You new around here?” the woman asked, pulling no punches.

“Just visiting.”

“During this time of year?”

Mia nodded absently and craned her head to examine the beer selections. “Can you tell me what you have on tap?”

The bartender rattled off the options, and Mia ordered a hazy IPA from a local brewery. Perfectly chilled and deliciously juicy, the beer traveled down her throat with ease. After a glance at the food menu, she ordered the specialty flatbread topped with butternut squash and caramelized onions.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the woman asked, staring intently as Mia handed over the laminated menu.

A chill of unease coasted up her spine. It had been years since she’d granted on-camera interviews or attended any award shows, her social media had been scrubbed, and she’d flown under the radar since her last musical flopped. But at one time, her face had been everywhere. She’d been as famous as a composer could be in the modern era when the vast majority of the general public lauded auto-tuned earworms above all else.

Granted, she’d already experienced notoriety in the music industry, ever since first performing at Carnegie Hall at the tender age of seven. But this had been a different beast entirely. She went from being famous in a small, esoteric world—bridging the gap between classical composition and traditional musical theatre and modern musical sensibilities—to being famous, famous.

It was the kind of fame that sucked away one’s true purpose—when people became interested in her rather than her art.

Her ex-husband had taken to the attention like a duck to water. Mia, not so much. It was no wonder the relationship deteriorated to the point of no return.

Gulping down the unpleasant memories, Mia shook her head. “I think I just have one of those faces.”

That vague explanation satisfied the bartender, as she shrugged and went to shoot the shit with another patron.

Dodged a bullet. For now.

A large mirror mounted on the wall behind the bar gave Mia a full view of everything happening behind her, and—against her better judgment—her focus continually fell on the roofer. But she wasn’t alone in her covert observance. His eyes also flickered toward her while he played darts, although she tried to dodge his stare as much as possible.

But she knew, deep down, that he’d meander over. They’d spar and flirt, and the tension between them would increase. Maybe if she’d been the Mia of years ago—freshly divorced and ready to jump on any man who looked her way—she’d be willing to entertain his blatant seduction. But today’s Mia knew better than to let a charming flirt sweet-talk her out of her panties.

Although, it could be fun to knock him down a peg or two.

Dinner arrived a few minutes later, and she devoured the flatbread, savoring the explosion of flavors. Her plate was clean and her beer was nearly finished when Boss Man finally approached.

“Funny seeing you here,” he murmured, slipping his well-formed arms back into his hoodie. Much to her chagrin.

Her gaze swung over to acknowledge him. “Why’s that?”

Sculpted shoulders lifted into a nonchalant shrug. “Figured you’d be more interested in one of Daymont’s finer establishments where cocktails cost twenty bucks a pop.”

“Those places are closed for the season.”

“You checked.” A smug smirk appeared, accompanied by a touch of playfulness. “Thank you for proving my point.”

She rolled her eyes in response, which only seemed to delight him further. His smirk morphed into a genuine grin, and his handsomeness nearly knocked her over. But it wasn’t only his attractive physical features that captivated her—the man had presence. A vibrating sensuality that was impossible to ignore.

“Dee, can I get another?” he called to the bartender, holding up his empty glass. “And another for…?” Trailing off, he raised his brows and gestured toward her with unmistakable intent. He wanted her name, and surprisingly, she wanted to oblige.

With a conceding dip of her head, she answered, “Mia.”

“Mia,” he repeated, his delivery laced with suggestiveness.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but his silent comeback was a flirtatious wink. The bartender sighed with exhaustion as she placed two fresh beers on the bar.

“Travis Flynn, you better not bother this woman,” Dee ordered in a stern voice.

His name raced through her veins, heating her blood like a firestorm. Or a lustful portent. Either way, their connection had now evolved into something more. First name basis. Acquaintances.

That fact did nothing to cool her down.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked Mia, a smidge of sincerity in the question.

She took a sip of beer, keen to make him wait. “Not yet.”

Her succinct reply pulled a snort from Dee, who cleared the empty plate and headed to the kitchen without another word. Travis took a seat on the empty barstool beside Mia, turning his body toward her, his legs wide and welcoming. It took every ounce of fortitude to not look at his crotch.

“Dee’s my godmother,” he explained. “She likes to give me a hard time.”

“I’m sure you deserve it.”

He laughed, the sound as decadent as dark chocolate. “Can’t argue with that.”

Mia trailed one finger up the length of her glass, condensation wetting her skin. “Your name’s not Robinson?” she asked, pointing to the logo on his hoodie.

“Nope. Cole Robinson was my mentor. I started working for him when I was eighteen, and he sold the company to me a few years back.”

“Why didn’t you change the name?”

“Because I learned everything I know from that man. He was like a father to me. I’m one of the sons in Robinson & Sons Roofing, whether it’s my last name or not.”

The sweet sentiment caught her by surprise. It also hinted at tension with his actual father, which piqued her interest, but she squashed the curiosity, suspecting that the more she learned about him, the more irresistible he’d become. Best to keep their discussions to surface-level topics only.

His strong throat bobbed as he gulped his beer, but she dragged her focus away before the sight hypnotized her. All for naught since she found his reflection, their eyes locking in the mirror behind the bar.

He held her gaze through the glass and asked, “What brings you to our little town?”

“Needed to get away for a while,” she hedged with a shrug.

“Vacation?”

“Something like that.”

“Odd time of year to visit. Most people summer in Daymont.”

“Maybe I’m not a summer type of girl.”

He broke the mirror connection and turned toward her, leaning closer. “Tell me what type of girl you are.”

“I don’t think you can handle that.”

“Try me,” he dared.

Flirting with a local townie wasn’t the worst way to spend a few hours, but their sparring shouldn’t have sent her into a tizzy. It wasn’t only her physical reaction that gave her pause—how her nipples tightened and her core hummed—but more so how her chest swelled with a foolish, giddy desire.

Get a hold of yourself. You’re too old to act like an infatuated schoolgirl.

“I assume you grew up here?” she asked, changing the subject.

“You assume right.”

“Other than drinking here, any suggestions to keep me busy?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.”

As hard as she tried, Mia couldn’t suppress her laughter. It tumbled from her mouth without pretense, a pure response to his utterly shameless answer. And he knew it, too, judging from his troublemaking grin.

“That was ridiculous,” she choked out once the giggles subsided.

“Maybe. Worth it to hear you laugh, though.”

The earnestness in his voice nudged her off kilter. She’d never met a man who moved so seamlessly from rapscallion to genuine gentleman, and it was difficult to grasp his real identity. What would it be like to peel back the layers of this man? Would she like what she saw?

Such questions could keep her up at night if she let them.

He gestured to the back of the bar. “Up for a game of pool?”

“Why do I feel like there’ll be a wager involved?”

“Smart girl,” he purred. “What do you say?”

“I’m not a betting woman,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

At least she wasn’t any longer. The one time she’d taken a chance in her career, it had flopped miserably. Arrogance had gotten the better of her. From now on, she’d walk the straight and narrow in every aspect of her life, whether personal or professional.

And this man was not the straight and narrow. He was a winding, twisting road to ruin.

Travis bit his lip in thought. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Believe what you want. Besides, I should get going,” she added after a quick glance at her watch.

“Ah, but the night is young.”

“And I have to get up early.” She gave him a knowing look. “My home will be invaded by a bunch of men before breakfast.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a bark of laughter.

She signaled for the bill, and Dee placed it on the bar in mere seconds, but Travis’s hand shot out to snatch it first. Their hands brushed, and Mia sucked in a surprised breath at how natural the caress felt against her skin.

Unaffected by the minor graze, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “I got it.”

“Oh, no you don’t.”

“Consider it thanks for lunch.” He threw several bills down onto the folio. “Now we’re even.”

A wise move on his part, as she never would’ve permitted the liberty otherwise. The last thing she wanted was to be in debt to him. No doubt, one day, he’d come to collect. But since this made things even, she conceded with a weary nod.

When she stepped off the stool, he also rose to his feet. Almost as if they were a courting couple of yesteryears, and it was his duty to see her off properly. But it also meant that their bodies became unbearably close, caught between the tight quarters of the stools.

Thanks to her height of five eight, there was no need to tip her head back to look at him, although her heart skipped a beat at their close proximity. Clammy hands grabbed her purse, throwing it over her shoulder as she attempted to act natural.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back to create more space lest she plaster her ample body against his athletic frame in a moment of madness. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a final once-over, leaning against the bar. “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow hadn’t meant much over the past few years. Another day of floundering, of feeling like a failure. Of not living up to the title bestowed upon her. But for the first time in a long time, the promise of tomorrow held weight. Her skin tingled as she departed the tavern, the heat of his gaze like an inevitable brand.