Page 8 of The Maestro and the Roofer

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 everytime 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 ofdeep 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 becauseof coursehe 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.

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