On Disapparating, Fleur held herself that little bit closer to Bill. She could reason it away with dizziness if she had to, but she was simply taking any opportunity to be near him as she had denied herself that very thing for so long.
Thus far, Fleur had found the food in the UK to be incredibly heavy, which she put down to the weather. Where she was from, they didn't have to stuff themselves with heavy food to keep warm, and her delicate stomach was not used to stews, casseroles and meat pies. She was not familiar with Egyptian cuisine, but she reasoned that they would be more likely to eat light because the weather there was nothing like the wet climate of England, so she almost looked relieved at the thought of their food.
Fleur liked the warm weight of Bill's hand against her back, and would have gladly tripped over the step just so he would catch her. It was not in her graceful nature to be accident prone, however, nor did she feel the need to stoop to such dramatics. Bill had agreed to the letters, had asked her on a date, and had brought her to his apartment where he was cooking for her–she was quietly confident that he liked her, and deduced that attraction would lead to more instances, such as his hand against her back.
"All zis effort for me? You certainly know 'ow to make a girl feel special," Fleur said. She clasped her hands together loosely to keep her hands from roaming the shelves of his apartment and studying his every precious belonging. The apartment showed a lot of his personality, drowning her every sense in the Bill-ness of it all. Fleur blushed when it dawned on her that they were alone in his apartment, where he slept.
"Your apartment ees very nice," She said, to steer her train of thoughts away from Bill's bedroom. It was such a big thought that she began to ramble to distract herself. "My apartment, eet ees much smaller. I do not mind zis, but my room in France ees a much larger space. My fazzer ees paying zee rent, 'owever, so I do not complain. Eet ees small, but, well, j'adore."