The shopkeeper's brown-eyed gaze drifted to the door as the day's next customer came in, and made an effort to hide his amusement. Lesley had been sketching on a bit of unglazed pottery with a piece of lead, blocking out a design before deciding if he wanted to actually paint it on, or change his mind again, but he put both aside and gave the guard a reassuring look - not an innocent look, that would hardly be believed by a professional who'd already noticed him, but one that acknowledged his presence and promised not to forget it simply because the man was momentarily out of sight.

"Don't be hard on him, miss." He certainly wouldn't want to leave his charge alone with himself if he was responsible for someone's safety. "I'm certainly not offended by professional suspicion." His lips curled into a wry smile. "I suppose it gets irritating for you, though, constantly being hovered over?"

Lesley didn't - to a non-professional eye - look terribly dangerous; a man not quite at middle age, with a quiet demeanour and soft eyes, strong hands but the width of his shoulders seeming more due to a naturally square build than the deliberate muscles of a younger man making a daily effort to impress the ladies. Since he was watching the shop while his mother was at the baths, he was dressed respectably, rather than his more usual plain tunic, and since the inside of the shop was cool enough inside thick stone walls and with a faint breeze coming through from the open doors and windows, he had a brightly decorated himation wrapped around his dark green chiton, pinned at the shoulder with a brass fibula that, like the pins on his long sleeves, was polished enough to look gold at first glance against the dark fabric. The callouses and faint scars on his hands were at odds with the image of a quiet merchant who worked primarily with fabric - and possibly paints, given what he'd had in his hands a moment ago - but not too much, if you assumed that he wasn't rich enough to have servants to haul whatever supplies his shop required, or do whatever other physical tasks were required around his family's home.

"Are you looking for anything specific today? My mother does custom work as well."

A family business, then, which fit in with the general impression of a place that made enough money to be considered successful, but not near enough to make the proprietor rich. That boded well for the prices, at least. He watched her browse, considering which sales spiel to use on her. Silver jewelry, so she had money enough that it was worth trying to upsell her on something, but not gold, so he needed to give the impression of respecting that she had a budget, and not try to sell her the store. Was she the type who spent more if she thought she was getting a deal, or the type who enjoyed throwing her husband's money at impulsive purchases? Impossible to know until they'd chatted for a bit.