João's exaggerated disgust earned him a cushion straight to the chest from Joanna.
"Shut up," she shot back, though she was laughing.
Lukas only grinned, squeezing Joanna's hands once more before letting go as footsteps approached from the kitchen area.
Anne reappeared balancing two takeaway bags and a cardboard drink tray, nudging the door shut behind her with her foot.
"Alright," she announced in mock sternness, "lovebirds and comedians, food is here. And you all need to eat properly. The flight back to Germany is in three hours."
She set the bags down on the small dining table. The smell of grilled chicken, rice, and warm flatbread filled the apartment. Nothing too heavy—simple, clean food. Protein bowls, salads, wraps. Athlete-friendly, even on a celebratory morning.
João was already reaching.
Anne lightly slapped his hand away. "Hands washed."
He groaned dramatically but obeyed.
