Page 11 of The Maestro and the Roofer

Call her a sucker, but that detail sent her heart soaring into outer space, taking her common sense with it.

She cleaned the kitchen, packing the leftovers in a giddy daze, and eventually headed back to the parlor. The piano hadn’t changed a bit, but it somehow looked different now. Like less ofa threat. In truth, she still wasn’t ready to play, but she sat on the bench in silence for what felt like hours and knew that shewouldplay again one day soon.

Later that afternoon, a man’s voice called from a distance, accompanied by a knock on the back door. She practically skipped to the kitchen, eager to set the record straight with Travis.

But it was Eric on the other side of the screen door.

“We’re all set here,” he told her with a kind smile. “We’ll reach out to Leslie to settle things, but you won’t have to entertain our ugly mugs again. And thanks again for the playbill. I really do appreciate it.”

She waved away his gratitude. “Of course. Is, um…”

But as her gaze darted to the driveway, the question got lost in her throat. Because Travis’s truck was gone.

FOUR

Later that evening, indignation surged through her veins.

“Can you believe he didn’t say goodbye?” she grumbled, pacing back and forth. Turning to the Steinway, she gestured wildly. “How dare he? The spineless bastard.”

The piano didn’t reply, being an inanimate object and all, and it occurred to Mia that she’d been ranting at the baby grand for the past five minutes.

Further proof she’d completely lost her head over Travis Flynn.

A part of her wanted to forget every charged moment they had shared. After all, the roof was fixed. He was out of her life forever, and in a few weeks’ time, she’d head back to New York. Best to write the whole thing off as heavy flirtation and nothing more.

Unfortunately, her competitive nature roared to life. They’d started something, and she wasn’t one to admit defeat, so she considered her options. An easy internet search would produce the contact information for Robinson & Sons Roofing, but there was another card to play.

The DT.

With a plan in place, she changed her outfit—yes, I’mstill pathetic, thanks for asking—and jumped in the car, bound for Daymont’s reliable watering hole. When she pushed through the door, the same scene welcomed her. The regular patrons, Dee behind the bar, and the smell of chicken wings and hot sauce perfuming the air.

Travis sat alone at the bar, nursing a beer without a care in the world. His quintessential smirk emerged as she crossed the threshold, and he tipped his beer to her in greeting. She glared without pretense, the sting of his Irish exit riling up her petty side.

Nothing better than an outfit change to assist in raking someone over the coals. The midi skirt she wore was a modest length, but the insanely long slit hit at mid-thigh. His jaw sagged at each exposed pop of her skin as she sauntered over. And goddamn it, she added a healthy dose of sway to her hips for good measure.

Take that, Boss Man.

Although his throat rippled, he recovered fast and arched a brow once she reached him. “Took you long enough,” he declared.

She lifted herself onto the stool and sighed wearily. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughed and passed the menu over. Dee asked for her drink order, wary eyes bouncing back and forth between them.

“Same as yesterday,” Mia said.

Quick as a flash, Dee slammed an IPA down on the bar and made herself scarce.

Travis snorted. “Think we scared her?”

She expelled an amused puff of breath. “I can’t imagine we’re the worst she’s dealt with.”

“You say that now.”

“Wanna split something?” she asked, motioning to the menu. “I have to eat, otherwise this beer will hit me like a ton of bricks.”

“You like wings?”

“I do.”

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