He glances at the watch that he's not wearing on his wrist and lets out a dramatic huff. "Okay, six seconds before the dog jokes and fourteen before you demand my own kitchen from me. What's next? Don't even answer that, I'm afraid to know."

He rounds the island countertop that sits in the middle of kitchen and leans against it, watching the way Raleigh so genuinely looks to be in awe of the space, and his smiles softens when she brushes her fingers over the counter. He's gotten varied reactions to his house, mostly impressed gasps that come with questions about how much a vet really makes in a year, and he's never minded those. Most of the people who react that way are only around for one night anyway and the ones who are more tactful tend to be the ones that stick around longer.

It doesn't surprise him that Raleigh is so taken with the kitchen above everything else--the view, the size of the place as a whole, everything--and it tells him that she's not here for the bullshit. The bells and whistles, he doesn't think they matter much to this girl, and he's always respected that quality in a person.

"You can have it but you can't wash the dishes, either. This is a hands-off dining experience, at least as far as the preparation and clean-up parts go. I know, I'm asking for a lot."