Page 1 of The Maestro and the Roofer

ONE

Her marriage and career had collapsed, so it was fitting that the roof collapsed too.

“Hell of a storm,” the foreman lamented with a shake of his head as his fellow crew member hauled a ladder out of the truck that proudly boastedRobinson & Sons Roofingacross the doors.

The last few years of my life have been a storm, buddy. This is nothing new.

Mia Pelletier had been in the coastal town of Daymont, Connecticut, for only a few days when the tempest tore through—the worst the northeast had seen in over a decade. All things considered, she was lucky the roof was the sole problem, as several hundred people in the area were without power.

“You Leslie?” the foreman asked. He was short and stocky, with fiery red hair and a face of freckles to match. A local through and through.

“No, she’s a friend,” Mia replied. “She’s letting me stay here for a few weeks.”

Despite the decent-sized hole in the roof, the coastal cottage was a stunning piece of property, and Leslie had offered it as a much-needed refuge. The home was classic Connecticut—creamy-white siding with sage-blue trimmings, a wraparoundporch overlooking a tidal river connected to the Long Island Sound, and a rickety dock leading to the water. Inside, the home was summer themed all year long, splashed with different hues of blues and greens, and marine artwork decorating the walls.

The ultimate setting to breathe new life back into herself. But as each day passed, Mia knew the fresh air wouldn’t solve her problems.

“Okay, yeah. The work order says to call her with updates,” the man murmured as he consulted the crumpled paper he pulled from his back pocket. He nodded to the other crew member. “I’m Eric, the foreman, and that’s Jerry. In case you have any questions. We’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

“I’m Mia.” She searched their faces for any recognition, but her tense shoulders relaxed when they didn’t pay her a second glance. Then again, neither man appeared to be the target audience of Maestro Mia.

Funny how that nickname had once been a source of pride. Now it felt like a curse.

“We’ll have to check out the interior damage, though, if you don’t mind?” Eric said, gesturing to the door. A gentle awareness was layered into his tone—an understanding that a lone woman around two strange men could feel uneasy.

Instead of cracking a joke that she’d seen a porno that started this same way, Mia let them pass through the door, and she returned to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. After devouring some cottage cheese and berries, she brought a mug of steaming caffeine onto the porch. The water had mostly calmed, the waves crashing mildly against the dock’s weathered pillars. It was only the beginning of October, but the air was crisp with the promise of winter.

As she curled up on the porch furniture, her ears pricked at the roar of an engine. A sleek forest-green truck barreleddown the remote road, dirt and gravel flying into the air. The truck took a sharp turn and proceeded up her driveway, parking behind the roofing crew’s vehicle. Then the door opened and a man stepped out, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Mia had sampled a handful of men since her divorce, but none exuded the pure animal magnetism of this one. Tall and lean, he moved with swagger—just enough to prove he was a force to be reckoned with, but not so excessive to be labeled arrogant. Unruly dark-blond hair topped his head, coupled with several days’ worth of stubble across his undeniably chiseled jaw.

Noticing her blatant inspection, he met her scrutiny with a charged look. Every inch of her skin burned as his striking sapphire-blue eyes examined her, moving from head to toe, the perusal eventually settling on her lips. Work boots hit the porch steps, ascending in a slow and steady manner as he approached like a predatory jungle cat.

“You the tenant?” he asked in greeting.

His voice—low and smoky and masculine—sent a bolt of heat zipping through her, but she steeled her reaction and said, “Temporary tenant. My friend owns the house. I’m visiting for the month.”

“Ah.”

No other comment was offered. Only a smoldering stare, which he performed well, as much as she hated to admit it. Instinctively, she pulled her chunky sweater closer, silently cursing her lack of appropriate clothing. She was clad in ratty leggings and a cardigan she lovingly called her granny sweater because it had belonged to her late grandmother. Not an ounce of makeup adorned her face, and her curly hickory-colored hair needed a proper wash.

Not exactly babe material. But apparently, that didn’t matter to Mr. Seduction.

“And you are?” she prompted with a raised eyebrow.

His smirk widened at her gutsy reply, and he leaned against the porch beam, folding his arms across his chest. A zip-up gray hoodie covered his upper body, complete with the Robinson & Sons Roofing logo embroidered on the left side of the threadbare fabric. Dark-wash jeans perfectly hugged his firm thighs, and his boots were scuffed.

No pomp and circumstance with this man. Unfortunately, that only amplified his dangerous allure.

“Oh, I’m just the roofer,” he drawled.

She tilted her head toward the door. “Well, they’ve started already. And I’m sure your boss won’t appreciate your tardiness.”

Amusement danced over his features. “Tardiness. My, my, my. You a teacher or something?”

The innocent question tugged at something deep within Mia. Once upon a time, that had been her dream. To be a music teacher like her grandmother. But destiny had other plans for her—plans that everyone insisted were more worthy of her extraordinary talent.

As if teaching wasn’t a worthy calling. The implication still unsettled her spirit all these years later.

---