He reached for my arm. I sidestepped, then lifted my gaze to the space behind him. "Mr. Simmons, spending money on other women like this—doesn't your wife get jealous?"
He turned to follow my line of sight. A woman was approaching from across the way, a cup of milk tea in hand.
Vera Swanson.
The same wide-eyed little protégée from all those years ago—now polished into the pampered, imperious Mrs. Simmons, courtesy of Wyatt's money and indulgence.
But after all these years, that cloying perfume of hers hadn't changed one bit.
She wasn't even close yet, and I was already sneezing.
Wyatt moved instantly, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. "You always get sick when the seasons change. Let me take you to the hospital—"
I didn't even get the chance to refuse.
Vera had already stepped between us, blocking his path.
She looped her arm through mine with practiced familiarity, gasping in delight. "Mildred! It really is you! I almost didn't recognize you!"
Her smile was radiant.
But her eyes were burning with jealousy.
"I don't mean anything by it—I just never expected to run into you at such a high-end piano shop."