Page 22 of The Maestro and the Roofer

Maybe Travis won’t even want to see me at all.

Perhaps not the most rational conclusion, but they’d had sex each night since that explosive first encounter, unable to keep their hands off each other. Physical attraction had been the initial catalyst, and she worried that its absence would translate to faded interest on his part. Insecurity grabbed her lungs and didn’t let go as she soberly slipped her legs into a pair of fleece Juilliard sweatpants.

As she crouched down and rummaged through her luggage to assess her tampon inventory, her phone buzzed with a text message from Travis.

Stopping by a project site for a bit, then heading to you.

She plopped onto the carpeted ground, crossing her legs and leaning back against the side of the bed. Her already roiling gut tightened further as she typed out a reply.

Okay. Just FYI, my monthly visitor came, so won’t be up for any bed sport tonight. Sorry.

Foolish tears arose as she waited for an answer that didn’t come, but she pushed them down and grabbed her granny’s sweater, swathing herself in the threadbare cardigan. Then she padded down to the den and burrowed beneath the cozy blanket, her body melting into the couch. Across the room, the television blared with a mindless disaster movie as the sun started to set. Streaks of vibrant oranges and rich pinks swirled in the sky, but her mood remained pitch-black.

Sometime later, keys hit the kitchen counter, the sharp sound traveling down the hallway, and her head perked up. Travis appeared within seconds, his lean form moving through the shadows of the room.

“Hey,” he murmured, lifting her legs to take a seat on the couch. He draped them over his lap and squeezed her thighs gently. “How you feeling?”

A bit befuddled, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

His brow furrowed, the flashing lights from the television flittering over his features. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?”

Throat clogged with emotion, she collected herself. Her hands covered her eyes, kneading back maudlin tears as she shook her head. “Sorry. Period brain. I’m glad you’re here.”

He puffed his chest out like a peacock. “Damn right, you are.”

Giggling, she nudged his thigh with her foot, and then a comfortable silence fell over them as they watched the last few minutes of the film.

As the credits rolled, he turned to her. “Figured we could order a pizza for dinner. Sound good?”

She agreed with a nod. “I could definitely go for some carbs right now.”

Cheesy and greasy glory arrived a half hour later, and even Mia—the ultimate New Yorker—had to admit that Connecticut could make a mean pizza pie. Not only was her belly full, but her heart was as well because, after dinner, Travis took it upon himself to search every closet and storage space for a heating pad. The triumphant shout that echoed through the cottage once he located one made her cramps feel suspiciously like butterflies.

When they retired to bed later that night, her eyes landed on the nightstand. She’d left her phone there all evening, and the home screen burned bright with a message from Leslie, delivered hours earlier.

Just spoke to my BIL. His GF would love to do an in-person meeting. Remind me when you’re back in the city again?

The innocuous question made Mia’s blood run cold, and in the recesses of her mind, a faint sound formed.

Ticktock. Ticktock.

“You okay, baby?” Travis asked, brushing his fingers across her back.

She gulped and placed the phone back down. “All good.”

Snuggled with him beneath the covers, she lay awake for hours. His steady, sleep-filled breaths filled the air, but thosesoothing sounds were no match for the ticking clock hovering over their relationship.

Her period came and went,but sadly, so did the days. In fact, they grew shorter as the season inched further into October, the sun setting earlier and earlier. Nevertheless, their idyllic yet doomed domesticity remained strong, and Mia’s ability to compartmentalize also strengthened. Her afternoons were still spent creating music and making business plans with Leslie, but Maestro Mia disappeared the moment Travis walked through the door each evening with his easygoing gait and roguish grin.

By the time her final week at the cottage rolled around, she’d refused to acknowledge that the relationship was living on borrowed time, and she knew it would hurt all the more as a result.

On the Sunday morning before her scheduled departure, he spent a full thirty minutes eating her out, edging her to the point of madness. Body contorted with passion and the sheets damp with her sweat, she seized, and a hoarse cry ripped from her throat as her orgasm detonated.

The man was the ultimate distraction. No wonder she’d been able to ignore the inevitable.

He crawled up the length of her body. “Would it be weird if I said I’m still hungry?”

Laughter burst from her. “No. I’m starving too. What do you want to do for breakfast?”

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