Talk about a rookie mistake, Jones! She knows what to avoid saying around dogs as well as she knows how to apologize to one. Jess sets her glass aside and cajoles Rocky with an inundation of rubs around the head. That, too, is a mistake, as he clatters to the ground and starts to wiggle around on his back. She thinks he wants her to rub his belly, but his joyfully flailing legs prevent her from getting a hand in. Then he rolls onto his front, hops to his feet and bolts for the water to run off the energy.

She keeps an eye on him to ensure he doesn't go any farther than before. As soon as she picks her glass up, there's a paper plate in her other hand. Jess smirks a little. Mass-produced and wasteful, they'd never see one at a town hall or harvest gathering. Crossing kebabs, she casually thanks him for dinner, so that it sounds more like she's thanking him for handing her dinner.

Jess takes up the couch, back to the arm and legs lain across both large cushions. Her glass is safely tucked between her thigh and the couch back, her plate held over her chest to protect her shirt. She digs her teeth in for a big bite that takes a lot of chewing. Her contentedness in doing so ought to ease any possible concern that she might not like his cooking. First for everything, etc. It's instantly filling, so her next bite is more modest.