"I do, unless you don't want any of these cupcakes." He slipped into the open door, already opening the lid to the box in his hands. "I think they're still a little warm. I didn't want them to go to waste, so here I am." He looked around, recognizing the floor plan - the essentials of it, anyway - from his own space next door. He moved into the kitchen, trailing the scent of fresh-baked food behind him. "Judging by the look of these," he said, "and the posh apartment of our gracious donor, no expense was spared in making these things. I hope you like red velvet." No mention was made of the fact that this was a peace laurel, of a sort; in truth, Samuel hoped to avoid the subject of the quasi-public, quasi-embarrassing argument altogether.
Napkins he procured quickly enough, but plates eluded him. After a few cabinets opened and closed, at last he called out, "Plates? Or are paper towels fine? I'm not really company, I guess. No need to stand on ceremony."