He absolutely was tittering like a loon, good god, if only his mouth would stop running off on its own like that; it was positively ridiculous and Anthony was liable to think Aziraphale was losing his mind, going on and on as he were. He tried to quell some of the overwhelming emotion, but his attempt to lose the smile was just not working. It was the adrenaline, had to be; what in the world was he turning into, tripping over himself and silly like a schoolboy over a little ride around the city? He hadn't felt this kind of freedom and rush in a while, and not since this whole ordeal with the Bureau had started, at the very least.

Giddy and still grinning, he turned back from the storefront to find Anthony had removed his helmet. The smile faltered just a tad.

"Right, yes, you'll be wanting this, I suppose." The helmet left his fluffy hair irregularly puffy and flattened both when he handed it back. Aziraphale tried in vain to smooth it out. "Nearly forgot I was even wearing it."

Feeling like an idiot, he followed Anthony to an outdoor table. "Sounds lovely."

Aziraphale took the seat opposite with a little wiggle into his seat and browsed the menu. Everything looked scrumptious. He hummed to himself as he debated over all the options.

"I'll have the crepes with pears and goat cheese, and a cup of Earl Grey," he requested, before addressing Anthony's comment. "You're Scottish?" In retrospect, he supposed he could detect a hint of the accent in some of Anthony's words. Just a little. "What brought you here, if you don't mind me asking?"