She didn't trust herself to respond to his joke. Friends joked and laughed and enjoyed one another's company. Sharing dinner with him wasn't meant to be something she enjoyed, but a means of survival. It was cut the vegetables or starve until the storm subsided enough for her to head home. (Not that she truly believed Alfred would allow her to starve if she refused to help, but it was more of the principle than anything else.)

Instead, Jo did as instructed, her hands moving slower than he might've appreciated. She was, however, reluctant to accidentally cut herself due to her being careless with the knife. Then, he really would have to talk to and engage with her to stem the bleeding — likely using the same spell they'd practiced in December — and very few things would've broken her more than that. The cut carrots formed a pile on the side of where she was cutting, their sizes ranging from chunks to slices.

Nothing fancy.

Jo supposed she couldn't blame him for asking, she would have too were the situation reversed. The quiet ask did cause her to pause mid-movement, though, and she stared down at the offending hand. "Yeah, it does." She stated quietly. "I'm fine, though. You learn to live with it after awhile."