"That," John said, dropping the sugar in - one, two - and digging out a spoon to drop into the cup, "Would be great. Thank you. I haven't really taken stock ... Some bread, maybe." Toast and coffee were usually the only things he ever made for himself, anyway. Or some kind of breakfast that came in a box. He waited til the steam was rising off, poured, and decided he could have one more go at conversation before retreating to the bedroom to organize his books, or something.
Into the sitting room, once again; he stopped beside the sofa to hold Rolf's coffee out to him. "I'm glad you're getting on, then. Not the best circumstances under which to come to town, but. You can do the shopping any time you want. Really."