Page 23 of The Maestro and the Roofer

His head turned to consult the digital clock on the nightstand. “The bakery’s open. It gets busy on Sundays, but it’s still early. You game for coffee and pastries?”

“Only always,” she quipped, kissing him on the tip of his nose.

After a quick rinse in the shower, she returned to the bedroom, stopping short at his solemn posture.

“Your phone was buzzing,” he murmured, gesturing over to the nightstand where it sat with the screen facing up.

Missed Call from Leslie.

A knot formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down and quickly threw a sweater dress over her head. “I’ll call her back later,” she insisted, plastering a reassuring smile on her face.

He met her smile with a cautious one of his own, both unwilling to discuss the inescapable truth, and they headed outside to hop in his truck. While on the journey downtown, her phone vibrated again, the soft sound somehow as jarring as a jackhammer.

“You can answer it,” he told her in a hush.

Mia shook her head vehemently as she rummaged in her purse. “I’ll just text her.”

Hands shaking, she sent off a terse message that she couldn’t chat, and Leslie responded immediately with news about the meeting scheduled for the following week. Apparently, their travel plans had changed.

Can you make this Friday work?

That would mean returning to the city a full day earlier than expected. A minor ask, yet it made tears spring to her eyes, but she sucked it up and replied back in the affirmative.

Yes, I’ll make it work.

“All good?” he asked once she placed her phone back in her purse.

“All good,” she lied in a whisper.

The truck pulled into a parking spot about a block away from the bakery, and leaves crunched beneath their shoes as they walked over. Throwing his arm over her shoulder, he pulled her closer, and giddiness pulsed through her veins. The rush was so intoxicating that Leslie’s request fluttered from her mind, and she didn’t even flinch as they passed the Daymont Symphony School.

When Travis reached for the door’s handle, it whooshed open, and a man stepped out. And although Mia had never laid eyes on him before, his identity was plain as day.

Thomas. Travis’s brother.

The resemblance was uncanny. The Flynn brothers shared the same height and body type, with lean muscles born from physical labor. Their bone structure was near identical—the same proud nose and chiseled jawline—and their hair color matched to a T. But the similarities ended there. No doubt, the elder brother was more clean-cut, his shaven face a stark contrast to Travis’s tawny stubble. Dressed impeccably for a Sunday morning, Thomas wore tan chinos and a navy cable-knit sweater to ward off the October chill, whereas Travis donned ratty jeans and his tried-and-true hoodie. Polar opposites in every way.

The brothers sized each other up for several seconds, like two outlaws before an old-timey shootout, with Mia a reluctant bystander. God willing, she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

“Trav,” Thomas said with a nod.

Travis cut his brother a stone-cold stare before replying with a clipped “Tommy.”

Thomas’s eyes—the exact same shade of blue—flickered over to Mia, no doubt noting their chummy pose. While his perusal wasn’t overtly judgmental, there was a sternness to his energy, and the eldest-sibling vibes were downright strong. But then Mia cracked through the austere bearing and realized what he was waiting for—an introduction.

Her stomach took a nosedive when Travis remained silent, the episode shifting from uncomfortable to unbearable. After a few excruciating seconds, Thomas got the hint and spared a tight smile before leaving.

Despite his brother’s departure, the atmosphere didn’t relax, tension radiating from Travis’s shoulders. She glanced at him warily as he opened the door for her, curious if he’d acknowledge the encounter, but he remained tight-lipped as they stepped inside, and the smell of sugary goodness didn’t ease the sting of his lack of introduction.

Awkwardness persisted as they placed their order at the counter. Both opted for savory instead of sweet, ordering ham-and-cheese croissants alongside massive coffees. Moments later, the cashier returned with their items, and Mia didn’t put up a fight when Travis pulled out his wallet to pay.

They situated themselves at a circular patio table out on the sidewalk, as every spot inside the bakery was occupied. The blustery autumn wind was fitting for the fraught interlude, and she zipped up her leather jacket. He sat with a weary sigh and stretched out his legs before taking a hearty bite of his croissant.

A few more minutes passed, and then she couldn’t take it anymore. “I guess that was your brother, huh?”

“Good guess.”

His voice was flat, his frequent teasing lilt now dead and gone. She removed the lid from her coffee to let it cool, blowing at the liquid before taking a tentative sip.

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