Vomit is naturally not pleasant to look at.
Owen Moreland didn't mind; he walked straight over, rested his large hand on her back, and gently stroked her in a comforting rhythm, with just the right amount of pressure.
Whether it was his comfort that did it or not, the unease in Amelia Clarke's stomach gradually subsided.
Owen Moreland offered a cup of clear water at the right time.
Amelia took it, rinsed her mouth, and was about to clean the dirty sink when Owen beat her to it, turning on the faucet and carefully and earnestly rinsing out the basin.
The earnestness on his face made it seem as if what he was doing was a matter of great importance.
A wave of emotion suddenly filled Amelia's chest. She reached out to embrace Owen's waist from behind, resting her face on his back and listening to the strong heartbeat in his chest. She asked in a playful tone, "Aren't you disgusted by this?"
