Ari wished he had a better response to that than an inarticulate squawk.
She picked up the waistcoat to nip the end of the thread off with her teeth, then carefully removed the remaining thread from the needle and wrapped it back around the card before dropping both into the box.
Holding the waistcoat out over the counter, she flapped it in Ari’s direction. “There now, oughta fit like a dream.”
Ari took it from her and shrugged into and buttoned it as quickly as he could without meeting her eyes, wholly unaccustomed to dressing in front of others.
By the time he finished, she was pushing back through the curtain, Ari’s clothing bundled in her arms.
Dropping the lot onto the counter, she whistled at Ari just as Orin had whistled at his ship. “What’d I say? Just like a dream.”
Ari blushed under her open observation.
She shook her head as she folded Ari’s shirt, then bundled it in brown paper and tied the package with rough twine.
“Orin was right, you are a shy little thing, aren’t you?”
Ari’s mouth hung open disconcertedly.
“I’m not. He didn’t. That was in reference to the ship, Miss Mudd.”
Sally peered up at him through sparse brown lashes as she boxed up his spats.
“Sure it was, hon. Now, how’d you like to pay—Ident or Chip?”
Chapter Seven
Sally led the way out onto the porch, Ari following close behind, loaded down with several boxes and parcels, all tied neatly together with twine.
He had secured his personal effects from the pockets of his old waistcoat and trousers and slipped them into the new, slowly growing accustomed to his Verge-style clothing.
It was by turns more and less restrictive than he was used to, and it was already having an effect on his posture and gait.
He surveyed the topography for likely sources, spying a patch of variegated soil that could be the match he was searching for.
Shifting his packages to one arm, Ari stooped to gather a soil sample. He capped the vial and carefully labeled it before sliding it into one of the convenient flap pockets on either side of his new trousers.
They walked past a few more buildings before he stopped to retrieve some sedimentary rocks, then bagged and labeled them before dropping them into the opposite pocket.
Sally stopped to watch him with a furrowed brow.
“I’m sorry, but what the heck are you doing?”
Ari turned away from the empty vial in his hand, granting her a fraction of his attention.
“I am collecting samples.”
Sally’s mask of confusion blossomed into a mask of continued, deeper confusion.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ari swept a dusting of mineral powder into the vial, capped and labeled it, and rose to his feet.
“It means I am gathering geological samples from every Verge settlement I encounter, in order to analyze said samples in my laboratory.”
Sally’s confusion grew a third layer. “What for?”
Ari brushed the soil from the knees of his trousers, marveling at the ease with which it came away. There was certainly something to be said for Verge clothing when it came to fieldwork. He glanced at Sally as he shifted the parcels in his arms.
“In the desperate hope of saving someone’s life,” he answered quietly.
The confusion melted from her face, leaving gentle commiseration behind.
He cleared his throat against the threat of a rising lump, blinking sudden moisture away, grasping for a distraction. “Earlier, when you said I was Mr. Stone’s type. What, precisely, did you mean by that? Purely out of idle curiosity, of course.”
She patted his arm gently before lifting both hands to her face to begin ticking off fingers.
“Well, let’s see. You’re pretty as a picture, kinda delicate in the way that always draws him in like flies on honey. Sweet, too, I’d wager. Obviously got some brains in your head, and, most importantly, you can’t take your eyes off him any more’n he can take his off you.”
Aristotle tugged at his ascot, fumbling his parcels as they nearly slid out of his arms.
“Would you. Would you say that Mr. Stone expects a certain level of sophistication, in a partner?”
Sally cut her eyes to his with a twinkle. “Speakin’ in terms of business, right, hon?”
Ari nodded stiffly, paper crunching as he held his parcels tightly. “In terms of business, of course.”
Sally bobbed her head thoughtfully from side to side.
“Naw. Think that man’s got more than enough sophistication for the both of you. In terms of business, mind.”
Aristotle turned away as heat prickled up his neck, deeply regretting initiating this conversation. “Thank you for your insight, Miss Mudd.”
Sally startled him with a light slap on the arm. “Anyone’d be lucky to have you. Why, I’d like to take you home with me just to listen to you talk. Only, Jeb might get a little bent out of shape if I did. As if he don’t know he’s the only man for me.”
She offered him a saucy wink as she slid her hand into the crook of his arm as if they had known each other all their lives, the dust ruffle on her skirts brushing against his boots with every step.
She tugged on his arm just as they drew in sight of the docks, bringing them both to a stop. Ari pivoted to her curiously, finding a serious expression stamped across her face. She pulled until he leaned down close enough to hear as she lowered her voice.
“Listen here, sugar. I’m gonna be the one to tell you this just cause there ain’t no one else out there to say it. That Orin Stone is a good man. I know he comes over real rough and tough, but he can’t help it if he got size enough for two fellas. Truth is, he’s a real sweetie pie, and you’d best not be messing him around or you’ll have to answer to Sally Mudd, you hear me? You ask around, and you won’t find nobody who’d want to be in your fancy shoes then.”
Ari nodded warily as he slowly straightened away from her sharp glare.
It would be fair to say he was dragged the first couple of steps as she resumed her jaunty walk right up to where Ari’s ship was docked.
Orin and another man stood at the bottom of the ramp, shirtsleeves rolled up and surrounded by crates they were unloading from a nearby hover wagon.
The other man was tall and handsome, mocha-brown skin contrasting nicely with his tightly curled blond hair. Or, he would have been handsome were it not for the deep trench of scar tissue dragging his skin down from the wide bridge of his nose up into his scalp on the left side. His mismatched eyes focused on Aristotle with a barely audible mechanical whir, soft brown on one side and glowing red on the other.
Orin gestured to him with a toss of his head. “This’s Jeb. He’s helping get Delilah gussied up for the ball.”
Ari couldn’t decide which part of the statement was the most confusing.
He opened his mouth to reply, realized there was no reply to be found, and shut his mouth again.
Jeb offered a wave with a sharp flick of his wrist above his head, and Ari raised his hand to wiggle his fingers slightly in response. Orin watched the exchange with good humor before turning away to haul crates of fuel crystals into the open hatch of the exterior storage panels.
Ari turned to Sally. “May I inquire—who is Delilah?”