Archie had never really taken the time to wonder why he was a good cook (or even why he had taken an interest in such a domestic thing) when he was a man and a wizard, neither of whom he had ever seen lift a finger to do so in his lifetime. His reasoning, however, should someone ever ask him, was that he was a Scotsman! And a Frenchman! Both of whom had incredibly loud and distinct palates, so if his family wouldn't, his nationalities would be more than happy to provide the drive to excel in the kitchen for him.
As the chicken carbonara appeared on the table, he rolled up the sleeves of his robe and gave his approaching fiancée a smile (and no, there was no way he was ever going to tire of using that word verbally, in thought, or narration, thank you very much). "I hope you don't mind Italian again-- do you have cravings yet? They aren't the kind of cravings that involve pickles and preserves to be combined, are they? Because I am a rather skilled in the kitchen, Isobel, but there is no possible way I can attempt to make that edible... What do you think of starting to look for a house soon? Also, when do you think we should take you in to see another Healer? I keep meaning to write up some sort of schedule of some sort."
Archie tried to take a deep breath subtly and kept his eyes on his plate, reaching for his fork.
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