He grinned at her. "Good to know," he said. She certainly seemed on the energetic side, though it was a quieter form of energy, contained, he thought. "Definitely planning on thanking the cook, myself. Last night was almost as good as my mama used to make." Perhaps better, but it rarely hurt in anyone's eyes to remain loyal to one's mother. "I'm almost hopeless in the kitchen myself, aside from simple tasks like this." He padded past her back to the jellies he had set out, opening a steaming biscuit and taking an appreciative sniff as he slathered it with jelly. She really was missing out. "But I can wipe dishes, so I might do that now and again."
"Well, you certainly do a very fine job of it, miss," he drawled again, giving her an appreciative look he sensed someone like her would appreciate. He mentally ahhed at finding out she was a dancer - it explained both her figure and her consciousness of weight, which he usually associated with women worrying over carbs. The stray thought flickered through his mind that she must be very flexible, remembering pictures of ballerinas in those skimpy outfits with their legs so far up... Mmm. Head in the game, he reminded his impulses. Patience. Even if with every woman he met he wanted, so far.