Clint smiled, watching appreciatively as more of her lithe form was revealed. Stretching his legs out under the table, his eyes flickered over her, studying her. The tell-tale signs of ink, hair slightly damp from the mist. She was bloody gorgeous. He picked up his menu, staring at it before sighing. He already missed the Tapas. English food was so... horrifying. Especially when he had a french mother and was in love with Spain.
Nodding, he tossed the menu down. He'd go with the fish and chips. "Thanks," he replied, eyes meeting hers, grinning. "I spent a lot of time naked and in the sun." Course, he was lightly bronzed but nothing more. No... he'd inherited his father's pale, English skin but luckily his mother's penchant to not burn. Considering her question, he glanced down at the table, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface.
It was an interesting question. No one had really asked him that. Not yet. His family seemed disinterested in his return. Aside from Ade that is. "It's... interminable." Clint shrugged. "It's England. There's not much here for me." Except her. "Brought it on myself, of course." He winked and reached out, taking her hand, tracing the ink stains over her delicate wrist, his rough fingers moving slowly over the dark blue spots. "Been writing or reading?"