To be fair, Isaiah was sure Winifred's apartment full of boxes looked better than his very bachelor apartment. He could usually guarantee that the kitchen was mostly clean, and he rarely left dishes in the sink after he cooked, just a habit he was in from being in the restaurant. The rest of the place? Eh, not so much. His clothing had a hard time staying in the closet, or the laundry basket, and was content to live on the floor. His bedroom was a lost cause, and always would be. Not that he expected Winifred to see that, but the thought was still there.
At least there wasn't a beer can pyramid set up in the living room, but mostly because Isaiah didn't drink beer from cans.
Winifred probably could have heard the roar of his motorcycle as he approached the Court, a bag slung over his shoulders with the few groceries he'd picked up along the way. Pasta, heavy cream, some cheese, and chicken, for chicken alfredo, along with the mushrooms she'd mentioned in her texts. It was a simple dish, and making the sauce wasn't hard, and Isaiah considered it a good recipe anyone should have in their repetoire.
Finding his way up to Winifred's apartment, he paused in front of the door before knocking. Hopefully she thought he looked okay - leather jacket thrown over jeans and tee. Hell, she'd talked to him - flirted with him, even - when he was in his chef's clothes so hopefully it would be all right. He knocked and then rocked back on his heels, waiting for her to answer.