[Chuck's stomach, as usual, grumbles at the mention of food. He grins sheepishly and nods, getting up from the floor.]

Ugh, yes please. I'm starving.

[He picks up his pile of folded clothes and sets them on top of the bed, adding with some dread.] But none of Jacob's cooking. I'm pretty sure I saw a piece of the cake he made yesterday crawl out of the plate.