*Isabella's POV*
The morning light was streaming through the massive windows of Jacob's penthouse kitchen. It felt fucking surreal to be here, after everything. I'd checked us out of the hotel this morning, a whirlwind of packing my bags and then fetching him from the sterile white prison of the hospital as Elly drove us here.
"What?" Jacob exclaimed, his voice echoing slightly in the huge, open-plan room. He was standing up from a chair at the kitchen island, a look of horror on his face.
"What do you mean, you don't know how to make pancakes?" he went on, his voice rising in disbelief.
"I never learnt, alright?" I said, leaning against the counter, trying not to smile at his dramatics.
"My God," he said, clutching his chest with his good hand. "We're gonna starve here, aren't we?" He shook his head, a picture of tragic despair.
I rolled my eyes, "You're such a drama queen."
He decided to take matters into his own hands, striding over to a cupboard. "This fucking shoulder," he winced in frustration as he reached for a pan, the sudden movement clearly pulling at his still-healing wound. He took a deep, steadying breath, visibly calming himself down. "Okay, I'll try to use my other hand," he said, more to himself than to me.
With that, he started opening cupboards and pulling out ingredients with his left hand, a clumsy, determined process. He grabbed a bowl and set it on the counter.
"Hey," I said, pushing off the counter. "I said I don't know how to make pancakes. I still know how to cook."
"But I crave pancakes," he whined, turning to me with a full-blown pout that was both infuriating and, I had to admit, a little bit adorable.
"Then order some fucking pancakes and get it over with," I said, my patience wearing thin. The last few days had been emotionally exhausting, and his whining was grating on my last nerve.
"Oh my God," he exclaimed, his face suddenly breaking into a wide, happy grin. "Did we just have our first fight?" He looked so fucking pleased with himself, his eyes dancing with mischief. "That means we can have makeup sex now," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive grow, his eyes full of that pleading, puppy-dog look he knew I was a total sucker for.
"Fuck you and your puppy dog eyes," I sighed, feeling my carefully constructed walls of irritation crumble into dust. My defenses were completely and utterly shattered.
I walked closer, closing the distance between us, and leaned in to kiss him gently. It was a soft, lingering kiss, a silent acknowledgment of his ridiculous charm.
"No, we can't," I said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. "But you're sweet for trying." I teased, a small smile playing on my lips.
He just rolled his eyes, a gesture of mock disappointment that made my heart ache.
After breakfast – which he forcefully made against my better judgement, resulting in a slightly burnt, lopsided pancake that he still ate with a triumphant grin – we went to his room so I could finally unpack.
"Did you miss my incredible bedroom?" he asked, a smug look on his face as he watched me place my clothes in his wardrobe.
"I don't know," I said, closing the drawer and turning to him with a smirk. "The hotel suite wasn't so bad."
He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. "Make yourself comfortable and come cuddle with me," he said, slowly and carefully climbing into the huge bed, wincing slightly as he settled against the pillows.
I went into the adjoining bathroom and changed into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts. When I came back out, he was watching me, his eyes dark and inviting. I hesitated for a second beside the bed, my brain screaming at me. What if I bumped his shoulder? What if I made it worse? The last thing I wanted was to cause him any more pain.
"Come closer, sweetheart," he said softly, as if reading my mind.
I still hesitated.
"I promise you won't hurt me," he said, his voice gentle and sincere.
With that, he used his left arm to snake around my waist and pull me against his side. The movement was slow, deliberate. I gently rested my head against his chest, the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart against my ear a comforting sound. His arm remained wrapped securely around my waist, holding me close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of pure, uncomplicated peace washed over me.
The silence that settled over us wasn't awkward; it was comfortable, a warm, heavy blanket of peace. The steady, rhythmic thump of his heart against my ear was a lullaby, and the faint, clean scent of his skin was intoxicating. For once since this chaotic week began, my head wasn't racing.
"This is nice," I said, my voice a soft murmur against his chest.
"It is," he agreed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. His arm, still wrapped securely around my waist, tightened slightly. "I missed you here in my bed."
I couldn't help but smirk, the familiar banter rising to the surface. "I was gone for two days before you went and got yourself shot," I teased, tilting my head back to look at him.
"Way too long," he said, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips.
He leaned down, his nose nuzzling into my hair, inhaling deeply. "You smell amazing," he said softly.
"And you like shit," I retorted, a giggle escaping me.
"So romantic," he chuckled, the sound a deep, happy vibration in his chest.
"You know it," I replied smugly.
My playful mood evaporated as my gaze drifted to the thick white bandage wrapped around his right shoulder. The reality of what had happened came crashing back in. "Is it still hurting?" I asked, my voice now laced with worry. "Do you want me to bring you a painkiller?" I started to shift, ready to get up and nurse him back to health.
"Sweetheart," he said, his voice soft, stopping me in my tracks.
"Do you need some what?" I asked, confused. Was he in more pain than he was letting on? I looked around the bed. "Is it the pillow alright?" I went on, my practical brain trying to solve the problem. "Let me adjust it for you."
"Slow down, sweetheart, I'm fine," he said, his arm tightening around my waist, holding me in place, preventing me from my fussing. He took a deep breath, and I felt the slight tremor that ran through his body. "I just need you," he said, his voice suddenly raw, stripped of all its usual bravado.
I stilled, my heart clenching in my chest.
"I need you to love me," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, "in your own way." He paused, and I could feel the weight of his next words pressing down on us. "Speak to me in your love language, I just need you. I need my sweetheart."