"Oh," his brows raise, and there's that dimpled smile as he speaks on, impressed but not surprised by the idea of her being a concert pianist. She had a habit of bringing in sheet music and he had been nosey enough to spy on what it meant, even if translating was not his skill.
He's an artist, not a musician after all. It's all above his head.
Travelling for work, another commonality that the two of them would not have known if Andrew hadn't had the balls to invite her out. Creative units, travelling for work, now teaching- much like how Andrew had mentored a young girl years ago. So similar and yet the planets they live on are incredibly different.
Even down to having so much pride in their work, so much joy that she spent that extra time practicing her craft just to make the day feel less... well, there's no other word for than slacking. And to him, it might be one of the more charming things he's heard in some time.
"Jazz bars? That's something." He says, stopping himself in his tracks when he noticed her trailing, then stopping. He settles near the booth, where he, too, skims the table on his own but doesn't see anything piquing interest enough to buy. That says nothing about how impressed he is with the artistry, however. How anyone can make keychains look gorgeous is beyond him, but the vendors done it. "I've never been to one but I see them constantly advertised so if you have recommendations, I have an open ear and a willin' wallet."
As her purchase is wrapped, he steps to the side to allow her past. "I tattoo. Uh- the shop just fifteen minutes away, Hard Line. That's mine. Like- actually mine. I own it." It could come as arrogant to say something like such for clarification, but the way he says it is so smooth that it's simply fact. Working at a shop and owning a shop are two entirely different responsibilities, after all.
His eyes skim across an upcoming booth that looks familiar, and as they get closer, he starts to turn. "My dad owned up up until I turned thirty," he carries on, stepping off from the gravel and to the table where he starts thumbing through home made body care and lotions, wildflower seed packets, wool goods that would do no good in the summer but would be useful for the cooler seasons. "He signed it over to me and I've been puttin' my touch no it for the past decade."
Andrew picks up a room spray, uncaps and smells- sundried linen is what's scrawled across the label. He sprays it into the cap and holds it out for Ariana to inspect, but is already pulling his wallet out to pay. He grabs a few assorted wildflower seeds as well and hands them over to the couple behind the table.
