Aziraphale could say so much with his eyes. There was never a wrinkle, evil thought or crease that could withstand the cheeky withering glare of an angel or his nimble fingers. Anthony relaxed under the touch, allowing his jacket to be removed and that horrible pink apron to take its place. He didn't even bother to squeak when the pinny was tied around his waist, presumably in a bow as these things usually were.

"Do I need to toss some money at some one? Hundred bucks for the art lesson?"