seveninchmotto | The Apartment, New York, Sunday

"You made a lot," Flick said, moving around and pouring each goblet with a healthy dose of wine before putting the bottle in the middle of the table. Then, he pulled her chair out and waited for her to get the meal settled before taking her seat.

Isabelle smirked at him. "Such a gentleman," she said, almost purring the words, as she took her seat. "And, yes. Told you I was going to stuff you full, didn't I?"

"You did," Flick murmured, dropping a kiss on top of her head before taking his seat across from her. "I think you would have scowled at me if I'd forgotten to do that."

"Oh, I don't know, I'm pretty forgiving." Well, sometimes. But she was smiling at him over the table as she gestured towards the stew. "You first, Jon."

"All right," Flick said, reaching for the pot and scooping himself a hearty helping of the stew. He didn't really know what he was seeing within the stew but one thing he could say? There were spices in there and he'd missed spices.

"Smells good," he said and actually meant that.

Had Isabelle not been protected by her confidence-bordering-on-delusion about her cooking, she might've been suspicious of that statement. As things were, however, she just smiled that much wider.

"Thank you," she said, and preened as she wnet to get some stew on her own plate. "I found the recipe online. It's amazing what you can find on there."

"The internet will give you just about everything," Flick said, dipping his spoon in and taking a hearty bite of the stew.

Now, the stew was unlike anything he'd ever eaten before. It wasn't bad by any means and it was spicy but he couldn't tell what he was tasting. He just knew it tasted not too bad at all.

"Nice job, Iz," he said and took several more bites before taking a breath. "God, that's good."

This was why you were Isabelle's one true love, Flick. This right here.

Okay, perhaps there were other, more pressing reasons. But she was beaming; her smile couldn't have been much brighter than it was right now.

"See?" she replied. "Only the best for you, baby."

Yeah, he was back to baby status. Not the food.

Flick was through half of his stew before he stopped to talk to her. He still didn't know exactly what was in the stew but each bite had gotten better and better. He wanted more.

"This is really good," he said, reaching for his wine to take a sip. "Thank you, Iz. This is exactly what I needed tonight."

Isabelle was much slower at working through her plateful. It was –– she didn't love it, but she thought it was fine.

And honestly? It was made better by his praise. "No one's said that before," she said with a chuckle before sipping her wine. "You should tell Jace."

"I'll tell him right now, if you want me to," he said, finishing his bowl and going for another helping. He didn't fill his bowl to the top but he still got a generous helping.

"Everyone else is stupid if they haven't said it before," he told her, shaking his head. "You're a good cook."

Isabelle was just abut moved by that.

Which meant she ended up smirking at him because pssht, she wasn't going to get emotional over finally getting the recognition she thought her food deserved.

"Oh, keep talking, baby."

"I can't believe you haven't cooked for me before," he told her, shaking his head and taking another few bites. "I've been missing out, Isabelle. This is better than anything I've had in months. It's perfect."

"Thank you," she said, and kept on smiling at him. "I'll cook for you whenever you want. Whenever."

Except during patrol time. Or when she just didn't feel like it. But other than that!

"I think I owe you a cooked meal after this," Flick pointed out, finishing his second bowl and sitting back, sighing. "Before I have to go back, I'm cooking for you."

"Ooh," Isabelle cooed. She'd eaten one (though heaping) bowl in the time he'd had two, and was now swirling her wine around in her glass. "Well there's something to look forward to. You've never cooked for me, either."

"I'm not a great cook," he said, shrugging and sitting back. He stretched out his legs and rubbed one of his calves against hers. "I should be able to manage something for you though."

"I'm sure I'll love it," she replied, nudging his leg with hers and smirking a little. More at the action than the words. "Not a lot of people have cooked especially for me, you know. It's a travesty, too, because I more than deserve it."

"Your past boyfriends haven't been as good as me," he said, preening lightly while he played footsie with her. "I'm a different breed."

"In so many ways," Isabelle noted. She finished the wine left in her glass. "For one thing, you're still a mundane."

For once, she was teasing. Not saying it the way she had in Idris, when she'd been winning the trust of the likes of Cartwright by playing up a version of herself from the past. Pre-Fandom.

"Yes, I am," he said, shrugging. "You fell in love me with as a mundane, though. You're gonna marry me."

"And now my dad knows it too."

She had to wonder whether that meant her mother would know it soon too. Not that her parents talked these days, but... that was big news.

"Yes, he does," Flick said, reaching to finish his drink. "He wasn't the first person I thought we'd tell."

Isabelle snorted. "No, he wasn't my first guess, either," she said. Shocker. Her leg rubbed against his, winding around it. "I thought it'd be Alec, if I'm honest."

"Him or my mother was mine," Flick said, stroking his foot up and down the back of her calf. "Guess it's time to start telling other people, huh?"

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