Digging for Home

"What do you mean?"

"Given Miss Forbes's physique, she should wear a size M-7," the device explained, "but she wears an M-5 instead."

Frank smiled as he pictured the stylized "NY" logo stretched out of shape by her bosom. "Let's go with M-5."

"Very good, Master. Home or road uniform?"

"Home, of course."

"The Yankees do not have names on their home jerseys, Master."

"Really?"

"Yes, Master. Would you like to see an example?"

"No, I should have known that; I don't need a picture. Skip the name."

"Very good, Master. Will there be a number?"

Franks head moved in a slow nod as his lips drew back in the widest smiled that had ever graced his features. "Make half the jerseys with no number and the rest with number sixty-nine."

"Yes, Master."

Frank continued to both smile and nod as he pictured the look on Charlie's face when she saw that number. Yes, she'll like that, he decided. But it's still just words; or, in this case, numbers, a hollow promise until you make it something more.

The man brought his eyes to the display screen. "What's the estimated ship time?"

"Two days, Master."

Frank brought his fingers to his scalp and scratched above his right ear. "Now I'm buying fucking Yankees apparel; like those bastards need any more revenue. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Nothing, Master. You're in love."

Frank's body jolted as he absorbed the unexpected reply. He searched his memory, seeking to confirm what he had heard. Even then, he did not trust his recollection. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Nothing, Master. You're in love.' "

"Elaborate!"

"There is nothing wrong with you, Master. You are simply in love with Miss Forbes. It is natural for humans to purchase gifts for one another in such a situation. There is nothing socially abnormal about your behavior."