Page 24 of The Maestro and the Roofer

“You didn’t introduce me,” she muttered.

His eyes shot up like a cannon to find her gaze, confusion written in his expression. “Why would I introduce you?”

The question was sincere, and perhaps that was why it felt like a knife to her heart. Because he had a point. Why would he introduce his brother to a woman he’d been fucking for a few weeks when she was leaving town in mere days?

Ticktock. Ticktock.

“Never mind,” she mumbled, pulling apart the gooey croissant with her hands.

“I told you I wasn’t close to my family.”

“Says the man who has their coat of arms tattooed on his skin.”

His jaw sagged into a stunned expression. Then his stare hardened, and he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “When do you head back to the city again?”

What was another knife to the heart when all was said and done? Still, she shoved down the pain and shrugged. “Few days.”

And, just like that, the conversation was over. They ate breakfast without another word, sipping at their coffees until nothing remained in the paper cups. Even with the friction, he remained the unlikely gentleman she knew him to be, disposing of her trash and then opening the passenger door for her once it was time to return home.

Home.

The realization knocked the wind out of her. Over the past few weeks, the coastal cottage had morphed from a simple hideaway—a place where she could get her head back on straight—into a genuine home where unlikely magic had happened. And perhaps the most stunning was how the man beside her hadwormed his way into her heart, and how helpless she’d been to stop it.

But when the truck lumbered up the driveway and Travis didn’t unbuckle his seat belt, she knew it was over.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she choked out.

“Sure.”

Her hand hovered over the handle, unable to open the door. How could she, when everything felt so unfinished? When so many things were left unsaid? But most crushing was how she hadn’t performed her latest composition for him. She’d been holding it close, waiting until each note was perfect before presenting it to the man who’d been her inspiration.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that a devilishly brash roofer would become a maestro’s muse. How the smiles he bestowed had rebuilt her confidence. How each touch of his rugged hands helped bring her back to life. She should’ve known better than to write this off as two adults indulging in a simple fling. Nothing was ever going to be simple, not when it came to this man.

“Mia…” He trailed off, keeping his eyes on the water in the distance. His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath before he said, “Just go. Okay?”

It was a plea. A prayer not to prolong this. To put them both out of their misery. And maybe it was better that way. No emotional discussion, no teary goodbyes. Just two people who knew the score finally reaching the end of the road.

As much as it physically pained her, she opened the door and descended from the truck. Each step toward the house felt like bare feet on broken glass, but she didn’t cry until the door was closed behind her.

SEVEN

On her final evening in Daymont, Mia drove downtown to purchase a premade salad from the market. No food remained in the refrigerator, and after the joy the cottage’s kitchen had brought her, wilted lettuce for dinner was a dismal disappointment.

Woe had taken up residence the last few days, the home devoid of any laughter or joy. She continued tinkering with her new composition, but each note now felt trite and tiresome, and the irony wasn’t lost on her. How fitting to end her stay in Daymont the same uninspiring way it had started.

Nevertheless, she secretly hoped for…something. A sign, perhaps. A bit naive, but she couldn’t help but wish for some nebulous force to push her toward the right path. Because, even after her strangely subdued separation from Travis, the thought of returning to New York left much to be desired.

After all, this town had enriched her life in a way fame and fortune never had. She didn’t miss the bright lights of Broadway, the red-carpet functions, or the industry gossip. The weeks away from the world of Maestro Mia had allowed regular old Mia Pelletier to have her time in the spotlight, and she was loath to throw in the towel now.

But the absence of Travis lingered, and she remembered his words from their first night together. This was his town. She was always meant to be nothing more than a visitor.

While returning to her car with salad in hand, her focus landed on the Daymont Symphony School, and regret festered like an untreated wound. But, as if by fate, the school’s door opened, and she smiled at a familiar face.

Eric, the foreman from Travis’s crew, ushered a preteen girl through the door and out onto the sidewalk. The spitting image of him, with identical vivid red hair and freckles, Eric’s daughter slung her backpack onto one shoulder and pushed circular wire-rim glasses further up the bridge of her nose. Noticing Mia, she stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping to reveal a mouth of braces.

“Mia, hey!” Eric greeted before sending his daughter a knowing smile. “I didn’t realize you were still in town.”

“Leaving tomorrow,” she said, both words full of quiet misery.

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