When Clint returned the dishes to the kitchen, Natasha finally extracted herself from the bed. Kneeling on the floor, she unzipped her luggage and sorted through the carefully folded items before coming out with a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless, button-up blouse. Pulling a sports bra down over her head, she looked up at Clint in all his confusion as he debated over hats, sunglasses and phones.

“I can see that,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “But don’t worry, you will pick up the habit soon enough.”

Pulling a few sundresses from her bag, she moved to the washroom to hang them up and hopefully steam the wrinkles out of later. “Or a bath,” she called out in reference to his earlier statement, now that she saw the room. The house was fairly modest, but somehow the tub didn’t seem out of place. Everything about the place was near perfect.