[The illusion's shattered at once. Not the kids chasing the tails of Chopin's waistcoat — the peace on Byerly's face. Richie can't hide the slight grimace as the man moves, fearing it's a bid to cut him off or grab at his sleeve.

It's nothing of the sort. Shielding the girl. Richie's pace stutters for a moment.

He should have expected that. Even now, By-by? The gal is probably just refracted light and pixie dust, and they're too engrossed in their instruments to dive off into scandalous conversation.]

Didn't I tell you? I worked in radio. I ran a whole music segment, Byerly, that was my gig. [His brows lift and he sighs.] Wasn't the classical stuff though, I'll grant you that.