"I'm not sure I deserve a dozen pink lemonade cupcakes," Clint said, and it had nothing to do with self esteem issues and everything to do with the fact that that sounded like the absolute worst combo of flavors to put into a cake or something cake adjacent.
Well. Maybe he'd try just one.
"You do," Clint confirmed, although he didn't really need to, surely Natasha was aware she was beautiful. And certainly she must have been aware that Clint thought so, too. Then again, a reminder about those sorts of things never hurt, it was true. He liked the braid, he liked the fact that she'd just gone and made his hoodie her hoodie now. "Thanks," he said anyway, going a little pink while his fingers moved awkwardly to his lapels in order to straighten them out. Not like he was fancy here, he was wearing a Hawkeye t-shirt underneath it after all. But still. It was definitely worth it if it made Nat smile like that.
He leaned a little more on the table, stretching just so, so that his knees weren't quite rubbing against the top of the table anymore, and he could press his ankle right up next to hers in a show of fondness that wasn't too public in a place meant for children.
"I mean, I love a food truck," Clint admitted. Because of course he did, he lived in New York and he got a big kick out of living dangerously. There was nothing more daunting than bad Street Meat. "Tacos. Pizza. Hot dogs." Okay now he kind of wanted those things. "But this is fine too. It's like an eleven on the weird scale and that's kinda great. We've got time for those other things. For now, let's just think about poor Liz and whether or not she'd also enjoy this giant dessert platter."