It's cold. That probably shouldn't surprise her, but she still almost fumbles the little parcel the boy hands her before grabbing it by the less chilly corners of the stuff its wrapped in. No sandwich ever felt like this. Frowning, still not entirely certain this isn't some kind of prank, Greta carefully tears at the foil until it reveals a square-ish slab of... something. It doesn't look anything like a sandwich, but it smells good. That white middle part must be the cream, but it's framed by two thin wafers of something dark and rich-looking.

Well, whatever it is, it smells like food, so she takes a cautious bite off of one corner. Her eyes widen. The wafer is softer than she'd thought it would be, and the cream is colder, but it's good. As good as anything she's ever had from the market. This is chocolate. She almost never gets to have chocolate!

She should probably say something - thank him, certainly, for buying this for her - but she's too busy chewing, silent and rapt.