Awesome.
I sigh, resigning myself to my messy fate.
Jack’s lips quirk up when he sees me, and I feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me. I hate everything he’s seen of me the last few days, the way I passed out on the ice. The dramatics of the surgery. Looking like this now, I don’t know why I’m bothering being upset he didn’t say he loved me back. Who would expect him to?
“Good?” he asks, and I nod.
Suddenly, he places his forearm on the doorframe and brushes a piece of my gnarly hair behind my ear. His hand palms the back of my head before he leans and places a soft but impactful kiss on my lips. The touch is subtle, but it leaves a lingering heat that makes my toes curl.
“What was that for?” I ask as he pulls away.
“You just looked really pretty,” he says, a tiny smile tugging his mouth into a crooked smirk. “And I like that I can kiss you now.”
I blink at him, my mouth opening and closing as I try to find the right words to say. I thought after yesterday, he’d be freaked out and itching to run, but canceling morning skate and telling me I look pretty when I know for a decided fact I do not send the opposite message.
Jack puts his hand on my back, guiding me toward my bedroom, but I deviate from our trek heading to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
Bending, I immediately regret folding in half and hastily reach for a frying pan. “I’m making breakfast so I can take my pills.” I open the fridge and pull out the eggs. Holy heck, moving hurts.
“Just a thought, Rapunzel.” Gently, Jack uncurls my fingers, wrapped around the frying pan, and slips it out of my grip. “But do you think maybe I could do that, and you sit your ass back in bed?”
“You have been watching too many movies with Luce.” I snort. “But, no, I can make my breakfast, not a problem.”
Reaching into the silverware drawer, I pull out a knife. Quickly, it slips from my grasp and falls to a clatter on the floor. Darn. I blink, staring at the elongated silver utensil taunting me on the floor. There’s no way I can bend down and pick it up with my bloated abdomen.
I glance up at Jack, wincing at the smug look on his face. “Okay. Come on.” He wraps a hand around my elbow and leads me back into the bedroom. I drag my feet along, defeated by a damn butter knife.
“But I need food,” I whimper.
“Yes. And I’m going to make it for you,” he grumbles.
“How are your culinary skills? I was unaware you had any.”
“Not fantastic.” He shakes his head. “But Lucy thinks I make a mean peanut butter and jelly.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” I grin, settling back into bed. “Can you bring me the folder on my desk labeled invoices? I have a few phone calls to make beforeSense and Sensibilityweekend. Oh, and my agenda book too, please.”
Crossing his arms, Jack shakes his head and directs a stern gaze toward me. “You aren’t working today.”
“Yeah, okay. Like heck, I’m not.”
“Whatever you need to do, Emy, Gus, or I can handle it. You’re resting. In bed.”
“I’ve rested all morning,” I groan, trying to push myself back up. “I swear I’m fi—I’m, uhm, I’m doing okay, honest.” On my second attempt to push myself up, a sharp knife stabs me in the gut, and I wince, accepting my fate. I’m stuck here, as much as I hate it.
“Let us take care of you for once, Dessy,” Jack says, fluffing my pillow and motioning me to lie back on my new wedge pillow that magically appeared when I got home. “Gus wanted to know when you were awake so he could set up the TV we bought you in here. I know it will be tough, but they said you’ll probably need to be in bed for at least two or three weeks with all the disease they removed.”
There it was again, that word I never thought I’d be associated with. The word that, weirdly, I had been desperate to hear.
“I’m going to go make you a PB&J, okay? Do you need anything else?”
“Just a glass of milk.” I twiddle my thumbs, letting that word spiral in my mind. “Do you think we could talk about whatever happened yesterday, too? The nurses weren’t very informative with me, and I understand I wasn’t really in the headspace, but I think I could handle it now.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll get the packet they gave me, and we can talk over everything once we get your pain under control. Promise.”
“Thank you.” I wince through another stab.
