Page 21 of The Maestro and the Roofer

His stare softened, as did his voice. “I was going to ask if you’d play the piano for me.”

Emotion lodged in her throat, rendering her mute for several seconds. The earnest confession touched something deep within her, and she nuzzled against his steady chest for comfort. Thankfully, he didn’t push her. His fingers simply skimmed the curve of her spine as she inhaled a few fortifying breaths.

Her mouth opened, but nothing emerged, and she thought of the quote from composer Jean Sibelius.

“Music begins where the possibilities of language end.”

She might not have the words, but she had her talent, and in her heart of hearts, she knew the time was now. Full of resolve, she rose and stepped to the bench. Naked as the day she was born, she sat and placed her hands on the keys.

Her lack of clothes was nothing compared to how her soul was stripped bare as she began to play one of her early compositions. Something separate from her ex-husband. Something she hadn’t played in years. Nevertheless, she revisited the stirring sonata while nude, in a small coastal town she had no true connection to, and in the company of a complicated man who was destined to disappear from her life. And, somehow, it was exactly what she needed.

When she played the final note, there was no thunderous applause. No rapturous calls for an encore. But she felt more content and accomplished than she’d felt in years. Because she had never needed the applause. Never wanted the fame and adulation. All that had ever mattered was the music and how it made her feel blessedly alive.

A gentle kiss graced the small of her back, the touch featherlight. Her throat tightened at the gentle gesture, and she blinked rapidly to dispel the stinging tears threatening to escape.

“That was…” Travis paused, unable to find the words. “Wow.”

Swallowing down a whirlwind of emotion, she took a moment so her voice wouldn’t shake. “Thank you.”

“Can you teach me?”

The quiet question was a surprise, and when she glanced over her shoulder to find him kneeling on the ground like a willing supplicant, her heart almost burst from her chest and into his calloused hands.

“I’d like that,” she said with a tiny nod.

She scooted to one side of the bench to provide enough room for him to sit beside her. Both of them naked in more ways than one, she coached him through a simple tune: “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

Their hands glided together over the keys, her movements assured and confident, his clumsy and unsure. But she was patient, and he listened, and soon, he got the hang of it. When he finished the chords of the nursery rhyme without her assistance, he looked at her with a proud smile.

“Not bad for a roofer, huh?” he joked.

She rested her chin against his shoulder and said, “Not bad at all.”

And as the stars shimmered outside and the waves lapped against the rocks, music adorned the cottage into the late hours of the night.

SIX

The following days were a haze of lust and laughter.

It was almost alarming how easily they settled into a pseudo-domestic life together. How Travis kissed her goodbye each morning before heading to the office to manage operations. The way her phone pinged with silly and sweet text messages throughout the day. Evenings spent preparing dinner together, Mia no longer solely delegated to the role of chef. Endless cuddles on the couch as they talked about everything and nothing. And nights filled with soul-searing desire, their bodies joining together as if made for each other.

But the heady rush of a new relationship wasn’t the sole reason she was on cloud nine—her musical mojo had returned with a bang.

Pun intended.

Inspiration teemed from her, and Mia spent hours at the piano every day, working on her first new piece of music in months. Although still a work in progress, the arrangement encapsulated the emotions she’d experienced since arriving in town—everything from defeat to exuberance to passion.

She titled it “Daymont Days.”

At the end of her second week at the cottage, she sucked it up and had a long conference call with Leslie. They mapped out her next steps, both agreeing that it was better to pursue other avenues instead of jumping right back into the jungle that was New York’s musical theatre scene. Leslie’s brother-in-law was dating an independent filmmaker who needed a composer to score her next film, and she floated the idea of an introductory meeting, which Mia was all for.

After ending the call, Mia closed her laptop with a cautiously optimistic smile. After months of missing the mark, things were finally starting to look up.

Or so she thought. A sharp ache manifested in her stomach, the cramps signaling the arrival of Aunt Flow. Her birth control pills helped ease the pain of her period, but the first day remained unpleasant when all was said and done. Mood plummeting, she headed upstairs to her bedroom to change out of her jeans.Sweatpants or bust.

An unsettling reality tugged at her heart as she stripped her legs out of the denim. Sex would have to cease for at least a night. She was no stranger to fucking while riding the red wave, but cramps and bloating did not make a girl feel desirable.

And then a depressing thought jumped into her head.

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