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"So, let me get this straight," Anathema says, punctuating her thought by stabbing the air with her fork. "You went to France. During the Reign of Terror. Dressed as an aristocrat. Because you wanted crêpes. And you didn't know how to speak French."
"I was rusty!" Aziraphale interjects.
Anathema takes another bite of her omelette and then points at Crowley. "And then this one just, what, emerged from the shadows and whisked you away?"
Aziraphale sets his teacup down and looks absolutely scandalized. "Angels do not get whisked away, young lady."
She ignores him. "And you think that's not flirting?"
Newt, who has been sitting quietly, eating his own plate of crêpes and soaking up this entire bizarre conversation, chooses this moment to speak up. "But, I mean, you did it on purpose, right? B-both of you. You both obviously did it on purpose."
Crowley, who has his arm around a very agitated Aziraphale, looks meaningfully over the top of his glasses at his angelito.
Aziraphale turns to him and huffs. "And you just happened to appear in my exact cell at the exact moment the executioner arrived? Really, my dear."
"My motivations were never up for debate, angel," Crowley says, and grins devilishly.
"Yeah, I hate to break it to you," Anathema concludes, "but you were definitely flirting with him."
Aziraphale hasn't looked away from Crowley. "Yes, all right, fine," he admits. "You were absolutely impossible to get a hold of, I had to get creative. So I flirted a little bit. Are you satisfied?"
A pause, in which Crowley looks more and more smug by the second.
Aziraphale rolls his eyes. "Oh, you are insufferable."
"And yet you continue to suffer me." Affection is practically dripping from Crowley's voice. It would be annoying if they weren't so damn cute.
They all eat in silence for a minute, Aziraphale continuing to turn a very dark shade of pink.
And then Crowley takes a loud sip of his coffee and says, "Wait until I tell you about our wedding."
Aziraphale's fork hits his plate. "I've told you a hundred times, Crowley, just because we were in a church doesn't mean it was a wedding!"
Anathema leans forward in her seat and picks up a slice of bacon. This is the best brunch she's had in a very long time.
Newt just mutters, oh good lord, and adds another sugar cube to his tea.