"Wine, it is," she answered with a smile and settled in further, leaning back to make herself comfortable. Crossing her legs under the table, she found that the toe of her high-heeled shoe fit comfortably behind Isaac's calf as he sat next to her. It took some willpower to not instantly jerk back, not sure what he would read from the gesture. It was hardly intimate, they had that elsewhere, and it couldn't be defined as affectionate or territorial, but it spoke volumes about her being comfortable in his presence.
Though territorial might be her next move. They had been seated in the centre of the restaurant, in clear view of many of the patrons. "This is why I've stayed away from Quidditch blokes," she commented, letting her gaze gesture to the curious diners around them. One thing Tracey fully understood was the player's obligations off the pitch. It was more than just playing during a match. Players had to cultivate fans as well. To develop a following. No way in hell any are going to be cultivated tonight.
Just as a freckled ginger was eying their table, and more specifically, Isaac, Tracey fixed her with an arched brow and look of warning before the witch thought twice about getting up and coming over. If Isaac needed help with his professional reputation, she was more than prepared to do that, but she wouldn't sit idly by while fans interrupted their dinner. Placing her left hand in his lap, she blindly found Isaac's fingers and linked theirs together. "Sorry, lovelies," she cooed barely under her breath to all the harpies in the room. "He's my husband tonight." She turned back to meet Isaac's gaze with a curious look. "Do you know what you're having? We could order a bottle of red."