The restaurant was called Bella Notte.
Small place. Tucked between two larger buildings on Fifth Street. Easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. But inside it was warm and quiet with low lighting and tables spaced far enough apart that conversations stayed private.
Barry arrived first. He always arrived first. Old habit that his enhanced intellect had calcified into standard practice. Arrive early. Assess the environment. Choose the optimal position.
He chose a corner table. Back to the wall. Clear sightlines to both entrances. Completely instinctive now.
The waiter brought water and a menu. Barry already knew what he wanted. He'd researched the restaurant before booking. Knew their best dishes. Knew which wines paired correctly.
He ordered a bottle of red and settled in to wait.
Iris arrived eight minutes later.
She walked in from the cold, cheeks slightly flushed, dark coat over a deep green dress that Barry hadn't seen before. She spotted him immediately and smiled in that specific way she had. Like seeing him was still a pleasant surprise even after all this time.
Barry stood. Old-fashioned instinct from Barry Allen's original memories. Joe West had raised him with certain courtesies and some habits refused to die.
"You stood up," Iris said, sliding into her seat across from him. "Very gentleman of you, Mr. Billionaire."
"Not a billionaire yet."
"The internet disagrees." She picked up her menu. "Bloomberg ran a piece today calling you the fastest company builder in Central City history."
"Bloomberg runs a lot of pieces."
"This one had your photo looking very serious and important." Iris looked up from the menu. "You didn't tell me about the Bloomberg interview."
"I tell you things."
"You tell me some things. Carefully selected things." Her tone was light but her eyes were direct. "You know what I've noticed about you lately? You share just enough to seem open. But there's always more underneath."
Barry met her gaze. His enhanced emotional intelligence processed her words carefully. This wasn't an accusation. Not quite. More like an observation from someone paying close attention.
Iris was sharp. She'd always been sharp. But lately she was applying that sharpness to him specifically.
"You're a journalist," Barry said. "You notice things most people miss."
"Is that a deflection?"
"It's a compliment."
Iris studied him for a moment. Then smiled and returned to her menu. "The lamb looks good."
"It's excellent. Get it."
"How do you know?"
"I looked up the menu before booking."
She lowered the menu and stared at him. "You researched the restaurant before taking me to dinner."
"I research everything."
"That's either very romantic or very strange." She couldn't decide which and her expression showed it. "Probably both."
The waiter came. They ordered. Iris chose the lamb exactly as Barry predicted. He chose the sea bass. The wine was poured. The restaurant hummed quietly around them.
For a few minutes they just existed. No business. No complications. Just two people who'd known each other since childhood sitting across a candlelit table.
Barry found himself genuinely present in the moment. Not calculating. Not managing variables. Just there.
It happened less and less these days. These small windows of actual presence. His enhanced mind had an almost gravitational pull toward problem-solving and planning that made stillness difficult.
But Iris created stillness in him. Always had.
"Tell me something real," she said. "Not about the company. Not about technology. Something real about what's going on in Barry Allen's head right now."
Barry considered the question. "I'm tired," he said finally.
Iris raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Something about ambition. Or vision. Or plans for world domination through batteries."
Barry smiled. "I'm building something important and it requires everything I have all the time. That's exhausting even when you're good at it."
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