Ford had a good deal of first-hand experience with how poets could find beauty in the mundane. Tycho had been writing poetry about him on and off for months, so he had regular opportunities to see himself (and what could be more mundane to one than oneself) through Ty's eyes. This wasn't particularly helpful for the conversation, though; it wasn't as though he could mention that his good friend regularly wrote poems about him. Particularly when most of those poems weren't exactly fit for public consumption. (Maybe he should ask Tycho where he kept those sorts of things — the idea that they might be uncovered someday, as Noble had uncovered Ford's stash of pining letters, was absolutely mortifying. Though the danger was much less, of course; Ty lived alone, without any siblings to invade his private space).

Before he could think of what to say she had waved the waiter over and replaced both their drinks — so he supposed he didn't have to decide whether that was too egregious or not after all, because she'd decided for him. How should he interpret that? Was this conversation going well? Presumably she was at least enjoying his company if she wanted to linger with another drink rather than cutting ties and dissolving back into the crowd around them, but was this more than just that, wasn't it? Women were not typically so bold as to hand out drinks to gentlemen at parties, so Ford couldn't help but interpret this as her hinting towards something... but hinting towards what, he didn't know.

Ford hesitated a moment, then made the decision. "Do you have a spot free on your dance card this evening?"

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