He hadn't been certain the flowers were actually for him and not their hostess and he didn't want to presume, of course, but-- Oh! He gathered them in his arms and inhaled deeply at the soft floral scent. Basking in Anthony's smile, he felt like something sublime, something more special than a frumpy old man in a painter's apron and a likely crooked little bow tie.

"Anthony!" he scolded. They were in public. There were children here.
A tart, really. He rather was one, and scrumptious too. But, no.
No. "Later." And one kiss wouldn't hurt; nibbling would have to wait.

"Now how about you join in here? It will be jolly good fun and I think we should have a spare apron and an extra easel if you'd like." Dressed as he was, Anthony was probably playing up the demonic angle of things, so instead of insisting that it was for charity, he tried, "You could be a delinquent, paint whatever you want?"