Page 4 of The Maestro and the Roofer

“Just visiting.”

“During this time of year?”

Mia nodded absently and craned her head to examine the beer selections. “Can you tell me what you have on tap?”

The bartender rattled off the options, and Mia ordered a hazy IPA from a local brewery. Perfectly chilled and deliciously juicy, the beer traveled down her throat with ease. After a glance at the food menu, she ordered the specialty flatbread topped with butternut squash and caramelized onions.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the woman asked, staring intently as Mia handed over the laminated menu.

A chill of unease coasted up her spine. It had been years since she’d granted on-camera interviews or attended any award shows, her social media had been scrubbed, and she’d flown under the radar since her last musical flopped. But at one time, her face had been everywhere. She’d been as famous as a composer could be in the modern era when the vast majority of the general public lauded auto-tuned earworms above all else.

Granted, she’d already experienced notoriety in the music industry, ever since first performing at Carnegie Hall at the tender age of seven. But this had been a different beast entirely. She went from being famous in a small, esoteric world—bridging the gap between classical composition and traditional musical theatre and modern musical sensibilities—to beingfamous,famous.

It was the kind of fame that sucked away one’s true purpose—when people became interested inherrather than her art.

Her ex-husband had taken to the attention like a duck to water. Mia, not so much. It was no wonder the relationship deteriorated to the point of no return.

Gulping down the unpleasant memories, Mia shook her head. “I think I just have one of those faces.”

That vague explanation satisfied the bartender, as she shrugged and went to shoot the shit with another patron.

Dodged a bullet. For now.

A large mirror mounted on the wall behind the bar gave Mia a full view of everything happening behind her, and—against her better judgment—her focus continually fell on the roofer. But she wasn’t alone in her covert observance. His eyes also flickered toward her while he played darts, although she tried to dodge his stare as much as possible.

But she knew, deep down, that he’d meander over. They’d spar and flirt, and the tension between them would increase. Maybe if she’d been the Mia of years ago—freshly divorced and ready to jump on any man who looked her way—she’d be willing to entertain his blatant seduction. But today’s Mia knew better than to let a charming flirt sweet-talk her out of her panties.

Although, it could be fun to knock him down a peg or two.

Dinner arrived a few minutes later, and she devoured the flatbread, savoring the explosion of flavors. Her plate was clean and her beer was nearly finished when Boss Man finally approached.

“Funny seeing you here,” he murmured, slipping his well-formed arms back into his hoodie. Much to her chagrin.

Her gaze swung over to acknowledge him. “Why’s that?”

Sculpted shoulders lifted into a nonchalant shrug. “Figured you’d be more interested in one of Daymont’s finer establishments where cocktails cost twenty bucks a pop.”

“Those places are closed for the season.”

“You checked.” A smug smirk appeared, accompanied by a touch of playfulness. “Thank you for proving my point.”

She rolled her eyes in response, which only seemed to delight him further. His smirk morphed into a genuine grin, and hishandsomeness nearly knocked her over. But it wasn’t only his attractive physical features that captivated her—the man had presence. A vibrating sensuality that was impossible to ignore.

“Dee, can I get another?” he called to the bartender, holding up his empty glass. “And another for…?” Trailing off, he raised his brows and gestured toward her with unmistakable intent. He wanted her name, and surprisingly, she wanted to oblige.

With a conceding dip of her head, she answered, “Mia.”

“Mia,” he repeated, his delivery laced with suggestiveness.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but his silent comeback was a flirtatious wink. The bartender sighed with exhaustion as she placed two fresh beers on the bar.

“Travis Flynn, you better not bother this woman,” Dee ordered in a stern voice.

His name raced through her veins, heating her blood like a firestorm. Or a lustful portent. Either way, their connection had now evolved into something more. First name basis. Acquaintances.

That fact did nothing to cool her down.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked Mia, a smidge of sincerity in the question.

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