Page 12 of The Maestro and the Roofer

“Dee, we’ll take an order of lemon-pepper wings,” he called out to her. Then he addressed Mia, keeping his voice low as if revealing a massive secret. “The buffalo is good, but lemon pepper is superior.”

She grinned. “Whatever you say.”

A satisfied purr rumbled from his chest, and he found her gaze in the mirror behind the bar. Mia took a large gulp of her beer, relishing the juicy flavor profile. The chilled liquid helped cool her body for a few seconds, and she wondered whether to address the unspoken issue or ignore it completely.

He raised the topic before her. “I googled you.”

With a groan, she plopped the beer down and covered her face with her hands. “Don’t tell me that.”

“A Pulitzer Prize, huh?”

“Don’t.”

“I’m okay, I guess,” he said in a poor imitation of her claim from earlier that day.

“Don’t!”

His laughter masked an undercurrent of disillusionment in his demeanor. Catching his eye in the mirror again, she scrunched her face with reticence, and she offered an olive branch.

“I’m sure you also read about my fall from grace, too,” she murmured.

“A bit,” he admitted. “Your ex sounds like a prick.”

Concise and to the point, as seemed to be his way. An appreciative smile curled her lips, and the urge to confide in him deepened.

“I know I’m better off. It’s just…” Pausing, she pondered how to sum up such a formative relationship. “He wasn’t only my life partner. He was also my musical partner. We worked so well together, literally since the moment we met at Juilliard.”

Travis whistled through his teeth. “Fancy.”

“Don’t,” she warned again, this time in a more humorous manner. He held up his hands in surrender, and she continued. “My identity became so interwoven with him, both personally and professionally.”

“So it must’ve stung when your first project without him wasn’t, uh…well received.”

“How diplomatic of you.” After directing a look of gratitude his way, she spoke the harsh truth. “It was a spectacular flop. Twenty-five previews and only one performance before it closed. The papers ripped me to shreds. ‘Maestro Mia’s Massive Misstep,’” she said, reciting a memorable headline.

“Rude. But nice alliteration on their part.”

“Yeah, even I had to give them props for that one.”

They laughed together as Dee popped over with their wings, the savory aroma making Mia’s stomach growl. Travis passed her an appetizer dish and a stack of napkins, and they piled their respective plates with chicken.

“The whole thing was doomed from the start,” Mia reflected, still heavy with memories.

“Your marriage?”

“The musical. I rushed everything. The new lyricist I worked with? He and I didn’t have time to get to know each other. To learn the other’s quirks and processes. But the pressure to perform was breathing down my neck. To come out of the relationship as the winner, you know?”

His perfectly straight teeth pulled apart a wing, and he chewed thoughtfully. “There’s always gotta be a winner.”

“And I let that compromise my integrity. Because the truth is, sometimes great art takes time. You shouldn’t rush it. And I forgot that.” She bit into the chicken and then moaned. “Holy shit, this is good.”

“Told you,” he quipped. Then he wiggled his eyebrows. “I like that moan of yours.”

“Shutup,” she insisted with a laugh.

Their eyes met again in the mirror, and she almost swooned at his boyish grin, elated that things were back to normal after the Maestro Mia reveal. Here was proof that she was still a regular girl he could drink a beer with, Pulitzer Prize or not.

Travis tossed a picked-clean wing onto his plate. “Well, since we’re sharing relationship woes, I’ll raise your messy divorce with being left at the altar.”

---