Accompanying Volf’s voice was a sweet, mouthwatering aroma from the kitchen, something Dahlia hadn’t noticed until now; in fact, she had been so absorbed in the embroidery, she didn’t know how long it had been since she’d started working. “It’s a small piece, and I had the design completed already.”
Looking at the stitching, he grinned from ear to ear. “That really says ‘made by Dahlia.’ It feels like I could become one of your magical tools when I wear that undershirt.”
“I can’t say I like the idea of you turning yourself into a magical tool, though you do have a point—with just the emblem on your back, it does make you look a bit like a product of the company...” Though he was great as a salesman and a face of the Rossetti Company, it wouldn’t do if he seemed like merchandise. “Let me put my name underneath as well.”
Her surname wouldn’t help, but perhaps her given name might. Among her threads, she found the one closest to the color of the shirt and then stitched “Dahlia” below the logo. The first character was a little too big and the rest were a little too small; striking the right balance was harder than she had thought.
“Why did you choose the same color as the fabric?”
“I don’t have experience stitching letters, so I figured it would be better if they weren’t too noticeable. Once I get better, I’ll use something different. And, um, besides, I thought it’d be fine as long as you knew my name was there.” Her rushed excuses hardly explained much but brought a big smile to his face.
“Yeah, you’re right. I can still read it just fine, and I’ll still know your name is on the shirt.” It seemed like it was more than just his ears that were sharp.
His attentive gaze didn’t help Dahlia relax much, but she acted as collected as she could and finished up the work. She took the shirt off of the embroidery hoop, made sure there were no stray needles hanging inside, then handed it to Volf. “Here you are. If this is to your liking, then I’ll do the same to the other five undershirts. You’ll know I got better at doing the letters if you see my name in a different color. I’ll make sure you get them before the season changes too.”
“This is perfect! Thank you—I really mean it, Dahlia. Is there anything—anything at all—I can get you to show my gratitude?” Volf clutched the single shirt to his chest as he looked intently at her.
Her wish was not for any physical good but for his well-being. Putting that into words was a little beyond her, however. “Then could I have some extra cream on my crepes today?”
“You got it. I’ll pile on all the cream and fruit you could want!”
As long as he returned to her so that the two of them could share a laugh like this, that was all she desired. Likely, that would be what Dahlia wished for as she back-embroidered the next shirt. Her crepes today would tear from being overfilled.
“Did you give your shirts to Dahlia so she can stitch your back-embroidery, Volf?” As the Beast Hunters got dressed in their large changing room before training, Dorino struck a question. The other knights who had also been present when they went out drinking the day before yesterday flashed Volf tender gazes from time to time.
“Yeah, I did, and she even did one up for me already.”
“That quick?! Well, go on and show us.”
“Here. A flower with a nightdog.” There was something adolescent about his smile as he took off his top to reveal his undershirt.
Slightly above center on the back was a little needlepoint design of a red flower behind a black hound, something that screamed them; Dorino couldn’t help but break into a smile. “Oh, that’s fantastic!”
Randolph nodded. “A fine back-embroidery.”
Both the swiftness of the toolmaker’s hands and the design made all the knights glow, but the boast that Volf was about to utter would stun everyone into silence. “Dahlia put in the Rossetti company emblem for me!”
“Ah. Right. The company emblem.”
“I see...”
Those who had been at the party the other day all cleared their throats, rubbed their temples, softly sighed, or enjoyed the autumn sky outside the window. Not a single one dared to ask what was collectively on their minds: did Dahlia really consider Volf to be nothing more than her company’s guarantor or just a friend to support as thanks for helping out with her business? Did Chairwoman Rossetti really not have anything else in mind? But the black-haired youth was a happy boy, so what could the rest of them really say?
“Yep. That’s Ms. Dahlia, all right.”
“Be happy she did that for you.” Dorino patted Volf on his right shoulder, Randolph on his left.
“I really am.”
Amid the chorus of sighs behind his back, the black-haired youth—and only him—beamed.
“The Rossetti Trading Company has come up with our company emblem.” In Ivano’s right hand was a parchment emblazoned with the logo of a black hound over a red flower, and in his right was another parchment stamped with a small monochromatic version of the same design—both equally striking and stylish.
Guido took both pages, and his smile narrowed his eyes. “Oh, that is indeed a wonderful emblem.”
The location was a parlor in the Scalfarottos’ villa, where the two men sat across from each other on sofas separated by a coffee table. Ivano realized that he had gotten used to the intricate engravings and unbelievably thick carpeting; what he still hadn’t yet gotten used to was speaking with the man before him.