Barry leans against the kitchen counter to watch Iris smooth her signature handmade pizza dough over a baking pan. He takes note of the slight upturn of her lips as she quietly works.
“What are you so happy about?” he asks her. “Are you that excited for ‘Pizzeria Iris’ tonight?” It was a phrase that had originated after one night in high school when Iris, tired of ordering Coast City Pizza for every Friday movie night, opted to make her own pizza from scratch, betting Joe and Barry it would taste better than the acclaimed “best in the west,” and if it did, she would get to pick the movie.
That’s how Joe and Barry watched She’s the Man for the first and only time.
“I am always stoked for my pizza,” Iris acknowledges. “But that’s not why I’m happy.” She grins slyly up at Barry who can tell she’s ready to burst with glee despite the attempt to keep her cool.
Barry mirrors her smile, tilting his head to one side. “What is it?” he questions.
“I finally said ‘yes’ to my dress,” she boasts, shimmying her shoulders.
Barry knows she’s flaunting because she’s relished his torment over being prohibited from accompanying her to any dress fittings or seeing her final dress choice until she makes her way down the aisle to him on their wedding day. To further his torment, Wally, Cecile, and even Joe alternately would take turns sending him snapshots teasing Iris in a dress: once it was a white train, another time the back of her head with a veil perched over her hair.
You guys give evil metas a run for their money, Barry would text back, only to receive a string of laughing and winking emojis in response.
“Is that so?” Barry raises his eyebrows, also trying to be nonchalant although his imagination immediately races to envision Iris in various weddings gowns. Luckily, she doesn’t know that. He isn’t going to give her the satisfaction of his burning curiosity and desperate impatience.
“So it is,” Iris responds haughtily. “And I think you’re really going to like it,” she taunts.
Barry crosses his arms in feigned indifference. “Well, can’t really know that unless I see it,” he probes casually.
“Nice try,” she smirks.
“You could at least describe it.”
“Okay. It’s white and floor-length.”
“You’re phenomenal with descriptions. Are you sure you’re a writer?”
Iris flicks the flour residue on her fingers at him.
“Again, all I’m revealing is that you’re going to like it,” she beams, and Barry can tell she’s done humoring him and finally letting her genuine excitement at the prospect of him seeing her on their wedding day shine through.
He’s ready to drop the jesting too, but not quite in the same way.
“How does that help me?!” he exclaims, any guise of nonchalance gone. “You could wear a bed sheet and I’d like it.”
She erupts in laughter, and Barry’s heart swells affectionately at the sound and sight. He continues, loving everything about making her laugh.
“I’m serious,” he goes on. “It’d be easy to tear off of you too, you know, for later…” He slides up to her slowly and wraps his arms around her torso from behind, burying his nose in the crook between her ear and neck.
Iris catches her breath, leaning back into his chest to steady herself.
“Well, you’re not tearing this dress off, no matter how wild you might get,” she giggles underneath him. “Not after that price tag.”
“But what does it matter if the wedding is over?” he whines into her neck.
“Barry, I swear if you tear my dress-“ she starts.
“-you can rip my tux to shreds in revenge,” he jokes.
“I’ll rip YOU to shreds,” she retaliates, elbowing him, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She relaxes in his grip and lets herself recline against him, the pizza at hand forgotten as they take a moment to soak each other in, to revel in their proximity. Barry’s so close to Iris that he swears he can feel bliss and exhilaration coursing through her, the same he feels in anticipation of being married to her.
“I may not know what the dress looks like,” Barry murmurs into her hair. “But one thing I do know?”
“Hmmm. What’s that?” Iris mumbles.
“You’re going to look amazing in it. As always.”