Page 9 of The Maestro and the Roofer

“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 shewasa 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 ifIlike 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.”

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