Chapter 6
SIX
The following days were a haze of lust and laughter.
It was almost alarming how easily they settled into a pseudo-domestic life together. How Travis kissed her goodbye each morning before heading to the office to manage operations. The way her phone pinged with silly and sweet text messages throughout the day. Evenings spent preparing dinner together, Mia no longer solely delegated to the role of chef. Endless cuddles on the couch as they talked about everything and nothing. And nights filled with soul-searing desire, their bodies joining together as if made for each other.
But the heady rush of a new relationship wasn’t the sole reason she was on cloud nine—her musical mojo had returned with a bang.
Pun intended.
Inspiration teemed from her, and Mia spent hours at the piano every day, working on her first new piece of music in months. Although still a work in progress, the arrangement encapsulated the emotions she’d experienced since arriving in town—everything from defeat to exuberance to passion.
She titled it “Daymont Days.”
At the end of her second week at the cottage, she sucked it up and had a long conference call with Leslie. They mapped out her next steps, both agreeing that it was better to pursue other avenues instead of jumping right back into the jungle that was New York’s musical theatre scene. Leslie’s brother-in-law was dating an independent filmmaker who needed a composer to score her next film, and she floated the idea of an introductory meeting, which Mia was all for.
After ending the call, Mia closed her laptop with a cautiously optimistic smile. After months of missing the mark, things were finally starting to look up.
Or so she thought. A sharp ache manifested in her stomach, the cramps signaling the arrival of Aunt Flow. Her birth control pills helped ease the pain of her period, but the first day remained unpleasant when all was said and done. Mood plummeting, she headed upstairs to her bedroom to change out of her jeans. Sweatpants or bust.
An unsettling reality tugged at her heart as she stripped her legs out of the denim. Sex would have to cease for at least a night. She was no stranger to fucking while riding the red wave, but cramps and bloating did not make a girl feel desirable.
And then a depressing thought jumped into her head.
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 those soothing 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?”
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.
“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 had wormed 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.