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“Clint. You’re acting like a child.” Natasha stood with her hands on her hips on the back patio, a slight disapproving frown on her face as she stared down at him.
Clint sat up in the big pile of autumn leaves he had raked out of the yard just like she asked him an hour ago as he studied the expression on her face. “You’ve never jumped in a pile of leaves before, have you?” he demanded.
She huffed an exasperated sigh. “That’s beside the point. You’ll have to rake them all— Clint!”
He managed to drop her in the leaves before her reflexes landed a sharp kick in his side and they both went down. He was laughing. She was sputtering in anger.
For all her mock rage though, Clint knew she’d never had a childhood. She hadn’t made snow angels and gone sledding and had pillow fights and, apparently, hadn’t jumped in a raked up pile of leaves. He’d had to introduce her over the years to all the fun things she had missed growing up. They sprawled side by side on the ground for a moment.
“Now,” he said breathlessly, “you can teach our kids how to do that.”
Natasha stared at him. “We bought a house, Barton, not—”
He put a finger to her lips. “I know. Just… think about it.”
She picked up a handful of leaves and attacked him.
He decided to take that as a maybe later.