Jyn steals a taste and hands the spoon back in the same moment she kisses his cheek and Cassian leans back into the embrace. He also takes the spoon and mimes smacking her on the knuckles for not waiting. It bounces harmlessly in the air, several centimeters above her hand. To make up for even the imaginary threat of it, he wraps an arm around Jyn's shoulders and hugs her to his side. He doesn't need both hands just this second.

While she speaks, Cassian glances at her and then back to the sauce, then back up to her again. "A job?" he repeats. He's not entirely sure what qualifies someone as an at-risk youth–someone with a childhood like theirs, he supposes–but he doesn't doubt for a second that Jyn's a good fighter. More importantly, he's seen her lead and inspire, even if she'd been making it up as she went for the sake of an assembled senate or a cargo hold full of Rebels.

"Do you want to take him up on it?" Whatever else she's ruminating on, that seems like the most important question.