Ariana’s POV
“Yes?” I asked, my eyes slowly opening to see his hand resting against the door for support while the other held something I couldn’t quite make out at first.
My gaze drifted lower, and then I saw it — the mushy mess in his palm.
“Is this… stuffing?” he asked.
“Oh.” I leaned closer, mortified. “I think it is. I slept off a while ago, and I didn’t move to the bed so I kind of… slept in my food.” Hearing it out loud somehow made it even more embarrassing than it sounded in my head.
A head-slap would have been appropriate right about now.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” Marco said, stepping back and giving me enough space for my chest to stop pounding like an engine had replaced my heart.
“Well,” he added, “are you just going to keep standing there, or are you going to wash it
