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

Chapter 3

THREE

The crew arrived at eight sharp, soon after Mia chose an outfit. Pathetic that she spent twenty agonizing minutes trying to decide, but no one needed to know that but her. She kept it casual—another pair of jeans and a lightweight sweater—although the top’s striking V-neck perfectly emphasized her breasts.

Travis Flynn was the definition of shameless. Why shouldn’t she follow suit?

The Robinson & Sons Roofing pickup pulled into the driveway first, followed by Travis’s sleek truck. She watched from the kitchen window, nibbling on a protein bar as fresh coffee trickled into the pot. Apparently, she was gunning for the title of Connecticut’s Best Hostess, since she headed onto the porch with the pot and three mugs.

“Anyone want coffee?” she called out.

The guys nodded eagerly, while Travis’s look suggested he was more interested in drinking her down.

“What’s on the menu for lunch?” Eric joked as he poured himself a mug.

Conflicting emotions surged in her chest in response to the innocent question.

Am I so petrified of the piano that I’ve let myself be reduced to some 1950s housewife archetype?

Her feminist sensibilities bristled. But after languishing with nothing to do for days, making the casserole had given her a purpose—albeit a small one. Still, there was no denying that she was stuck in a rut of the worst kind if she preferred the role of merry homemaker instead of award-winning composer.

The Steinway called to her from inside the house, and her hands shook at memories of soft adagios and lively allegros. But instead of telling the men that they were on their own for lunch, she dug her head deeper into the sand.

“It’s a surprise,” she improvised. “I have to run to the market, though. Do you need access to the house?”

Eric and Jerry looked to Travis for an answer, but he shook his head silently. Not without a hint of a lustful smile, of course. With that settled, she grabbed her leather jacket and purse before locking up the cottage. The driveway was wide enough that their vehicles hadn’t boxed in her rental car, and she started the journey to the nearest market.

Downtown Daymont was relatively sleepy for a Thursday morning. The wind persisted after the storm, and brittle leaves crunched under her boots as she strolled down the street. Several storefronts were open for year-round residents—the hardware store, the grocery, the bakery—and many were decorated for Halloween.

One building stopped Mia in her tracks.

Daymont Symphony School.

Music note decals populated the window, although their frayed condition hinted at a long history in town. Music lessons for all ages and abilities! was imprinted between the musical embellishments, the font flourishing and evocative.

Pins and needles pricked her skin, but she forced her legs to move, ignoring the deep desire to introduce herself. Anonymity had become an anomaly, and it would be foolish to abandon something so rare. So she pushed the music school from her mind and entered the grocery store, focusing on the task at hand.

The crew was hard at work on the roof when she returned, but her nerves spiked at how Travis stomped around up there like he was invincible. As if one wrong move wouldn’t put him out of commission completely. But at the same time, his recklessness was somehow incredibly attractive. That absence of fear. The drive to get the job done, no matter the circumstances.

Lust intertwined with distress in her stomach, a disconcerting combination she tried to shake off as she exited the car and grabbed the grocery bags.

Travis noticed her and called out, “Need a hand?”

“Nope, all good.”

Once in the kitchen, she unloaded the ingredients into the fridge and pantry and then returned to the porch to retrieve the coffeepot and mugs from earlier. But Travis had already descended from the roof and beaten her to the punch.

“You taking a break already?” she quipped.

His devilish grin took center stage. “I’m the boss. I can do what I want.”

“Is that right?” Holding out her hand for the coffeepot, she glowered when he didn’t immediately hand it over.

Instead, his eyes dipped to admire her cleavage, and his strong hand around the carafe’s handle clenched. Her mind exploded with images of that same hand squeezing her breasts, and her nipples tightened at the fantasy. The taut buds were on full display due to her thin cashmere sweater, and his sinful mouth curled at the sight.

He extended the pot, and she reached for it, but the scoundrel had other ideas. With the handle in her grasp, he used the tenuous connection to pull her closer. A tiny gasp left her mouth as she stumbled forward, somehow stopping herself before colliding into his firm chest—as inviting as it looked.

“Whatcha making us for lunch?” he asked, not even attempting to hide the huskiness in his voice.

Tilting her head, she met his timbre with her own raspy reply. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

“I like a woman who can cook, you know.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She stepped back, finally pulling the pot out of his hand. Sarcasm dripped from her words as she gestured toward him. “You give me I-want-my-woman-barefoot-and-pregnant-in-the-kitchen vibes.”

He snorted, glancing away from her as his brows narrowed. “You think that little of me?”

“I don’t know you. We only met yesterday, remember?” she reminded him.

A gust of wind brought a handful of errant leaves onto the porch, dancing around their feet. Silence swirled as Travis considered her words, keeping his gaze on the choppy water in the distance. The carved planes of his profile were as pretty as a picture, and a flash of fantasy invaded—the sight of that arresting face on a pillow beside her, both of them spent after a night of vigorous lovemaking.

His head turned, ensnaring her with a mischievous look as if he’d read her mind. “Oh, I remember.”

Mia rolled her eyes to suppress the grin that wanted to escape. “Look, I appreciate the blatant flirting and all, but I’m thirty-seven. Way too old for bad boys.”

“I like an older woman.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break.”

His hearty laugh weakened her knees. It wasn’t fake or a product of his trifling persona. No, it was pure Travis, and every time he revealed that side of him, she desperately wanted to soak up more.

Her index finger pointed at him like a no-nonsense professor. “Get back to work.”

He winked. “I like it when you boss me around.”

Turning on her heel, she threw him a flirtatious look over her shoulder as she stepped into the house. “You say that now,” she called back, the screen door slamming.

As morning turned into afternoon, the mouthwatering smell of chili filled the kitchen. Another recipe courtesy of her grandmother, and the perfect choice for a brisk autumn day. The spicy stew simmered until half past noon, and then Mia sounded the lunch call. Happy hoots echoed from the men, and they dashed through the back door several minutes later.

“Look at this,” Eric remarked with delight. “You’ve got a whole setup.”

Indeed she did. The pot of chili sat on the stove, a ladle on the counter nearby. Bowls were stacked beside a pile of spoons. Tiny serving bowls were filled with different toppings—shredded cheese, crushed tortilla chips, and sour cream. Freshly baked cornbread completed the conveyor belt of deliciousness.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Travis drawled from behind her.

Looking back, she almost swayed at his close proximity. He was near enough to lean back into his arms—top-tier arms contained in a long-sleeve navy-blue Henley that brought out his eyes. By now, she was no stranger to his blatant physicality, but it still affected her on a level she’d never experienced before.

Momentarily spellbound, she recovered quickly and replied with an unassuming shrug. “Just a bit of chili.”

“So modest.”

“Hush. Grab a bowl and eat.”

With a laugh, Travis assembled his meal alongside his employees. They chattered together, an unmistakable sign of deep camaraderie. Mia hovered to the side until they sat at the kitchen table, and then she prepared her own bowl.

As she scooped the chili, it hit her that she wasn’t simply hungry for food. What she craved more than anything was human connection. After being surrounded by people for ages—her ex-husband, friends, colleagues, adoring fans—much of her community had fallen by the wayside once she became persona non grata. And her grandmother’s passing had been the ultimate blow.

Not to mention how the news of her ex-husband’s romance with Broadway’s biggest starlet—a woman twelve years his junior because of course he had to become a cliché—hit the papers the day of Granny’s funeral.

It was no wonder Mia had turned into a shell of her former self. How she’d wound up in a cottage in Connecticut, surrounded by men she barely knew, wishing more than anything that they’d invite her to sit at the table and break bread with them.

Instead of awkwardly lingering, she snuck off to the parlor again and ate her lunch alone. The longer she remained in the room, the more she knew this stalemate with the Steinway couldn’t last forever. She ran her fingers over the glossy top of the piano and inhaled a fortifying breath.

You can do this, Mia.

“I think I have some competition.”

This man really has a habit of catching me in vulnerable moments.

Peeking behind her, she laid eyes on the perfect picture of temptation. He once again leaned against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed, the toe of his work boot balanced against the hardwood floor. Her belly flip-flopped, but at least the reason for that reaction was this magnetic man and not the faultless instrument beside her for once.

“Competition?” she repeated.

“The way you’re looking at that piano could make a guy jealous.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ah, but I’m so good at it.”

That pulled a laugh from her, and his vibrant eyes sparkled at her reaction. He sat on the piano bench, with his back against the keys, and in the easy silence, Mia attempted to parse out her attraction to him. There was the obvious, of course. The handsome features, the sculpted arms, the undeniable charisma.

But there was something else about Travis that spoke to her, and the quiet epiphany was so simple it brought a bemused smile to her face. Because the truth was that she felt wonderfully normal with him. Just a woman attracted to a man. Both of them stripped down to their most basic identities. Maestro Mia didn’t exist here, and that freedom was like walking on air.

“Do you, uh—” she started, her voice weak from the realization. Collecting herself, she forced out the question. “Do you play?”

“Nah. Don’t have a musical bone in my body. You should’ve seen me playing the recorder in elementary school.”

Mia chuckled at the thought of tiny Travis wreaking havoc on the woodwind. “Oh, I can imagine.”

“Even if I wanted to play, this sort of thing was reserved for a certain section of Daymont.” He sent her a speaking glance. “Fancy shit, you know?”

Her head dipped in a silent nod of understanding. It was a great injustice that the arts were often only accessible to the affluent, and Mia was fully aware of how she was living proof. Even if she hadn’t found fame and fortune as a composer, she still never would’ve wanted for anything. She’d had money the second she was born, her family’s wealth going back generations.

Sometimes, she wondered if her musical talent would’ve been nurtured if she’d been born to a different family. If she would’ve soared to such heights if a fat wallet hadn’t been behind her. It was sobering to ponder how many untapped artistic geniuses were out in the world, forever undiscovered because of their financial circumstances.

And, as always, she thought of her beloved granny, a tenured professor at the Manhattan School of Music, who’d found an even higher purpose when she retired and began volunteering as a music teacher at after-school programs in disadvantaged neighborhoods.

Her grandmother had taught her many things. But the most important lesson she bestowed was that art was universal and should be accessible to everyone, no matter what.

The memories dissipated when Travis turned toward the piano keys. His roughened hands were a jarring juxtaposition to the piano’s elegance, but the contrast was profoundly beautiful. And when his long index finger pushed and played a single note, the sound whisked through the room like an enchantment.

Just like that, her entire body vibrated with an overwhelming desire to play. To sit down and create music. To get lost in the beauty of the chords, the melodies, and the magic. But, even more so, she yearned to confide in him about the things most important to her.

“My grandmother was a music teacher. She taught me how to play,” she whispered.

Travis tipped his head to find her gaze. “You any good?”

Amusement tugged at her lips. “I’m okay, I guess.”

“Better than me, I’m sure.” He played some random chords before halting the amateur performance with a sobering look. “You said she was a music teacher…did she pass?”

“Few years ago.”

Compassion brimmed in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She softly nodded her thanks. Death was a part of life, and her grandmother had lived a long and fulfilling one, but that didn’t lessen the pain. While time helped dull the pang of her absence, Mia often wondered how she would’ve weathered the past few years if Granny had still been around to be her core support system.

“You think your grandmother would’ve liked me?” he asked coyly.

Mia threw him a teasing glare and said, “I still don’t even know if I like you.”

His hand shot to his chest, clutching his heart as if mortally wounded. Another laugh flew out of her, and he lit up at her reaction. He watched her intently, almost as if memorizing every laugh line on her face, documenting the ones he had created. Like he wanted to leave a mark on her.

“She did appreciate a charming man,” she conceded with a good-natured smile.

“Ah, you two had that in common.”

“Don’t push it.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle, but once the laughter died down, silence rippled between them. The air grew heavy, and a sensation swept over Mia—the reckless danger of teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Or perhaps a roof.

“We’re on schedule to finish today,” he told her in a hush.

She blinked a few times to refocus. “Hmm?”

“The roof. We’ll finish it up today.”

“Oh.” She tried to gulp down the news as if it meant nothing. As if the thought of never seeing him again didn’t cut her to the quick.

The intensity of his stare deepened. “Just thought you should know.”

Then he stood, his wonderfully lean body unfolding to its full height. As the significance of his statement lingered, he grabbed her empty bowl and spoon and left the room without another word.

Fierce longing speared her as he departed, and she followed like a bat out of hell. But he reached the kitchen before she could stop him, and she schooled her features, mindful of Eric and Jerry.

Travis passed the bowl and utensil to Jerry, who was on dishwasher duty. Mia didn’t even note Eric’s absence until he reentered the cottage with an uneasy look, holding something close to his chest.

“I’m sorry to ask this,” he began, “but would you mind signing my daughter’s playbill?”

Her world tilted off its axis at the sight of the weathered booklet in his hand. Staring in shock, she clutched the counter to anchor herself, the cold marble a shock to her system. There was no denying it—her cover was blown, and her throat strained to form a reply.

So much for anonymity.

“Um. Sure.”

Not the most eloquent or enthusiastic response, but it was something. To avoid Travis’s probing look, she rummaged around for a marker.

“You famous or something?” Travis asked, the question fraught.

“No,” she insisted in as firm a voice as she could muster. “Not at all.”

Eric refuted that claim almost immediately. “You’ve never heard of Maestro Mia?”

“Guess I’ve been out of the loop,” Travis answered in a clipped manner.

To her horror, Eric launched into an abridged version of her career. Completely disoriented, she continued searching for a marker as the words buzzed in her ears like white noise. One was stuffed in the back of a drawer, and her hands shook as she retrieved it and signed the playbill’s front cover. She pushed the booklet into Eric’s hands, stopping the Maestro Mia history lesson before he reached the most embarrassing portions of her story.

After avoiding Travis’s gaze for as long as possible, she glanced at him with contrite eyes. Despite having nothing to apologize for, her chest still ached with regret. More than anything, she lamented the loss of the precious normalcy she’d experienced with him. Such fleeting moments, and she should’ve known it wouldn’t last, but it didn’t lessen the blow of the unmistakable despondency in his eyes. His expression confirmed that she’d morphed from a hoity-toity city girl he’d enjoyed teasing to something unattainable, and her head pounded painfully at the new reality.

Travis raised his eyebrows. “Sounds pretty famous to me.”

“I’m not famous,” she repeated. Trying to regain control of the situation, she turned to Eric. “Did you know the whole time?”

“You looked familiar, but it didn’t hit me until last night,” he explained. “I’m sorry to ask, but my daughter is a huge fan of the show, and she’s been having a hard time at school lately?—”

“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off. He’d let the cat out of the bag in the worst way possible, but she couldn’t begrudge him for being a good father. “But could you keep this under wraps? I’m trying to?—”

“Stay anonymous?” Travis supplied.

Her eyes cut over to him in a silent plea to let sleeping dogs lie, at least for the time being. He could give her hell later, once she’d fully processed her loss of anonymity, and she tried to say as much to him without speaking a word.

“I won’t say anything,” Eric promised. “Thank you so much. This is going to make her day. You have no idea.”

She permitted a tight smile and then tossed the marker back in the drawer. “I should start cleaning up.”

“And we should get back to work,” Travis added, eager to break up the awkward interval.

The men headed to the door, and Eric clasped Travis on the shoulder. “Still can’t believe you stuck it out with us.”

Although the comment wasn’t intended for her, Mia jerked her head in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Eric nudged his boss in the side. “This one typically just checks in and then heads back to the office. He hasn’t spent this much time on a worksite in God knows how long.”

Travis scoffed, his cheeks turning pink. Mumbling under his breath, he stepped outside, and the other men left as well, leaving Mia alone to digest the news.

He stuck around for me.

Her eyes got misty at the revelation. Over the past few years, many people in her life had jumped ship when things got tough. Her ex-husband hadn’t put up a fight to save their marriage, and her friends in the industry had stopped calling once her influence waned. Lord knows her parents were already aloof and distant and had been for her entire life. Otherwise, they may have ditched her too.

But this man, who she’d known for mere hours, had deviated from his routine in an effort to stay close.

Call her a sucker, but that detail sent her heart soaring into outer space, taking her common sense with it.

She cleaned the kitchen, packing the leftovers in a giddy daze, and eventually headed back to the parlor. The piano hadn’t changed a bit, but it somehow looked different now. Like less of a threat. In truth, she still wasn’t ready to play, but she sat on the bench in silence for what felt like hours and knew that she would play again one day soon.

Later that afternoon, a man’s voice called from a distance, accompanied by a knock on the back door. She practically skipped to the kitchen, eager to set the record straight with Travis.

But it was Eric on the other side of the screen door.

“We’re all set here,” he told her with a kind smile. “We’ll reach out to Leslie to settle things, but you won’t have to entertain our ugly mugs again. And thanks again for the playbill. I really do appreciate it.”

She waved away his gratitude. “Of course. Is, um…”

But as her gaze darted to the driveway, the question got lost in her throat. Because Travis’s truck was gone.