Greta's smile is a little uncertain at first, as if she can't quite believe Iman's interest is sincere. It broadens at the thought of teaching her, though. That would certainly be something. It wouldn't be that hard to repurpose a cape into an apron, and she comes perilously close to snorting into her wine glass at the thought.

"Parents," she replies, and if there's a faint hint of good-natured reproach in her tone, it's less because she's scandalized by the 'wife' comment and more because wouldn't her mother just love it if there was a spouse involved, gender notwithstanding. "And they'd be thrilled if you stopped by for baking lessons, I'm sure. Although..." she gives Iman's metal arm a considering look, wishing she could examine it more closely but resisting the urge to do something as presumptuous as reach for it. "Is your arm flour-proof? Because I have to warn you, it gets into everything."