Natasha returned the waiter’s smile and graciously accepted his congratulations in such a manner that nobody would have had any inkling that it was all for show. Nobody but Clint.

She sat in silence while he drank, one hand on her stomach and the other toying with her napkin on the table. When Clint’s hand covered her own she took a shuddering breath. “It’s fine,” she said, but it really wasn’t. “We’ll have to start telling people eventually, right? So why not start with the easy ones?” It wasn’t like they had told anyone important, anyone they would ever see again, but somehow that thought didn’t really help.

Extracting her hand from his, Natasha got to her feet. “I need to use the washroom. I’ll meet you at the entrance.”