Twice. So only two girls... or possibly one girl two times. Ugh, I can't believe I'm still worrying about this. Jace is with me and that's all that matters. I've been his one and only girlfriend for the last year and two months and that's what I should focus on when thinking of us. Not the fact that he had other girlfriends before me. "Wait, you've only lived here for one year," I say. Immediately, I snap my mouth shut because I did not mean to say that revelation out loud. Jace's eyebrow is probably permanently c.o.c.ked in an expression of confusion by now. "Yes..." he says, sliding his finger down the soft edge of the menu. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You've only lived here a year and Perry's Steakhouse doesn't exist in California where you lived before you met me." It's all starting to make sense in a weird way that doesn't make sense at all.

"So, what's your point?" Jace asks. "You wondering why I came here twice since I've known you?"

My heart thumps beneath my chest. "Well...yeah."

He leans back against the smooth leather bench seat behind him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You could have just asked me, sweetheart."

My face flushes and I gnaw on my bottom lip, suddenly wishing the waitress would come take our order. But of course, she is nowhere to be seen. Two other couples sit at tables around us and I glance at them with their sweet expressions and their enthusiasm for being with each other and suddenly I feel like a huge jerk. "You're right," I say, folding up my menu and folding my hands on top of it. "It's stupid of me to care. I was just being...hormonal, I guess."

Jace stares at me with those piercing but gorgeous eyes of his. "Mr. Fisher brought me here when we talked about the opportunity for me to come work with him at Mixon Motocross Park," Jace says. "And then Park and I came here last year during that weekend where you and Becca were having a girls only night to study for the SATs. Do you remember that? I remember calling you from Park's rental car when we were driving home and I talked about the volcano so much you had joked that I should marry it instead of you."

I laugh. "I totally remember that. You were obsessing over that stupid dessert."

Jace laces his fingers through mine from across the table and leans forward, his eyes serious. "It is a dessert worth obsessing over," he whispers.

"You are such a dork," I whisper back.

He shrugs. "Takes one to know one."

After we've eaten dinner, our waitress comes to check on us and Jace orders the volcano. Her eyes light up and she surveys us in a new light. "Are you dining here for a special occasion tonight?"

"No," I say, right at the same time Jace says, "Yes." I look at him waiting for an explanation. He extends out his hand toward me and tells the waitress, "This is my fiance's first time here and she's never had the volcano."

This makes the waitress laugh because she had been obviously expecting a better reason than that. "You're in for a treat! I'll be right back."

I'm expecting her to bring us the infamous desert, but she doesn't. Instead, she arrives with a rolling cart that looks like an ultra-fancy stove with just one burner on it. There's a shiny metal wok-shaped pan on top of the stove. On the fold out arm of the stove cart is a ma.s.sive oddly shaped bowl of ice cream. She fires up the gas burner and the blue flames glow beautifully in the darkened restaurant. I watch in awe as she pours syrup and sugar and other ingredients I don't quite see clearly into the pan and cooks them over the burner. An instant aroma of brown sugar fills the air and makes my mouth water. I only thought I was stuffed full from dinner- now I am desperate for this ice cream.

She takes the bowl of ice cream and stabs a few decorative pieces of chocolate lace into the sides of it. Then, with careful precision, she lifts the pan off the stove and pours the sugary concoction on top of the ice cream. She places the bowl in the center of our table, and then takes a lighter out of her ap.r.o.n. It's the kind of lighter with a long barrel. "Enjoy," she says with a smile before clicking on the lighter and touching it to the top of or dessert. A quick burst of blue flames erupts on top of the ice cream, caramelizing it for just an instant before the fire burns out.

My mouth has been open wide and childlike for a few minutes now. I finally remember to close it when Jace says, "Told you it was awesome."

We grab our spoons and dive in. I know I'm a pregnant chick right now, so pretty much anything with sugar in it is something my brain absolutely loves, but this volcano is the most amazing thing I've ever eaten, hands down.

"Oh my G.o.d," I moan between bites. "This is so good."

Jace nods. "I...told...you..." he says, his mouth full. He dives in to grab another spoonful but I knock his spoon with mine. "Back off, mister. Pregnant chick gets twice as much since she's eating for two."

He relents and lets me scoop up the best possible bite out of the whole bowlit is equal parts ice cream and caramelized, gooey delicious brown sugar. "You're such a gentleman," I tease him.

He smiles. "You're lucky you're so d.a.m.n cute."

"Dinner was seriously the most amazing thing ever," I say as I slide my hand under Jace's elbow and hold on to him as we leave the restaurant. It's warm outside but I hug him close to me anyhow. I love the feeling of holding onto his arm when we're walking. We could be anywhere in the world and it would still feel like I'm home if I'm holding onto him. "Thank you for taking me."

"You're quite welcome," he says, stopping to hold open the door for an older couple who has just arrived at Perry's Steakhouse. I step aside and let them in, and then hurry to catch up with Jace.

Jace lifts his arm slightly and I grab onto it again. "Would you like to do anything else tonight? There's a mall not far from here."

"I don't think anything could make this day any better," I say. "It's pretty much perfect the way it is. I say we go home and watch movies."

"Perfect, eh?" He tilts his head to look at me, his eyes an expression of challenge.

"Yes it was," I say. "Don't try to think up some way to make it more perfect because it won't happen. This day was absolutely perfect and nothing can ruin it."

Jace clears his throat. His arm stiffens under my grip. It doesn't click right away that his arm is stiffening for a particular reason. Nope, I'm still blissfully walking along the cobblestone walkway in front of the restaurant, heading toward Jace's truck and thinking all kinds of things about how perfect everything is.

"The f.u.c.k are you doing here?"

I look up and find Ian standing perfectly still a few feet ahead of us. Jace steps forward, his arm holding me back just a few inches. My stomach twists into a knot and sheer panic flits across my body. The strong repugnant scent of Ian's cologne triggers an outpouring of memories, all the weeks we spent together when I was constantly around the scent of Ian's cologne.

Well...this night was perfect, I think.

Right before I lurch forward and throw up.

Chapter 8.

The volcano does not taste as good when it's coming back up. Luckily, in my nauseated daze, I had leaned over a bunch of bushes and now, after a few moments of hurling, all of the food and puke nastiness is pretty much hidden under a ma.s.s of green foliage. I'm vaguely aware of Jace's voice saying something, and then Ian says something back, in a less friendly voice.

A hand touches my back when I stand back up. Jace leans toward me and I close my mouth, hoping to G.o.d that he can't smell my puke breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks. His eyes stare into mine as if we're the only two people on earth, but I know better. I nod and clench my teeth together. I know Ian is still standing around watching this scene and I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to see him and I definitely don't want to smell his cologne. He was the worst part of who I am. And he's in the past. He does not define me now.

"Move along," I hear Jace say. I know he's talking to Ian but I refuse to look up and acknowledge him myself. I'm perfectly happy staring at my black velvet flats. I am going to be the bigger person here. I'll stay silent and go on with my day. I will not give him the satisfaction of talking to him.

"So it is true," Ian says. "Bayleigh did get herself knocked up."

"Who the h.e.l.l told you that?" Okay, I screwed up on this whole staying silent thing.

Ian wears crisp black slacks and a black b.u.t.ton up long sleeved shirt, complete with a tie. He looks exactly like the servers in restaurant. He must have finally decided to get an honest job.

He looks me up and down and I cringe when his eyes linger on my stomach for longer than necessary. Although I am pregnant, I'm wearing a loose-fitting shirt and you can't really tell from looking at me. But Ian remembers the skinnier me from two years ago. He can probably tell that my stomach is bigger from a mile away.

"Who told me?" he says with a snort. "Everyone. The whole d.a.m.n town knows you got yourself knocked up and then left town so you wouldn't be embarra.s.sed about it."

I see red. "f.u.c.k you, Ian. That is not what happened and you're a dumba.s.s if you want to believe gossip."

He grins as if we're playing a game and he just won. "Sure as h.e.l.l looks like what happened."

I feel Jace's hand press against my back. "You're done," he says. His voice is serious and deep and for a split second, I think he's talking to me. But when I look at him, his jaw is rigid and he's staring straight at Ian. "Get out of our way. I'm sure you have some tables to bus or floors to mop."

"Man, f.u.c.k you." Ian snarls. He stands up straighter, shifting from one foot to the other. He wants Jace to do something. He wants a fight, a scene. Because that's the kind of person he is.

But Jace is better than that. I know it.

I'm gently pulled to the side and a few moments later, we've walked right around Ian. Just like that. As if it wasn't a big deal. I draw in a deep breath and slowly let it out. I will not glance back. I will not try to have the last word. He's just not worth it.

I do a pretty good job of holding it together as we walk to Jace's truck. But the moment he closes the pa.s.senger door for me, I burst into soft tears. I turn to the right and pretend to be really interested in looking out of the window, hoping that I can get it together and stop crying before Jace notices. We pull onto the highway and a warm hand touches my thigh. This kind of comforting touch is always his way to let me know he's aware that I'm upset but isn't going to push me to talk about it. I know he means well, but I ignore him. I don't want to talk. I don't even want to look at him.

I spend the long drive home staring out of the window, watching the trees and buildings and cars zoom across the gla.s.s. The only thing I can think about is how, yeah, Ian might be a total a.s.shole, but he is right about one thing. I am a girl who got knocked up and then moved away from her hometown. I can dress it up as much as I wantI can say I'm engaged and I'm in love and pretend that I totally planned life to happen like it did, but that's not true. My pregnancy was an accident, plain and simple.

Sure, we're happy about it but we're also terrified. At least, I'm terrified. I don't know how to be a mother. My mom and Becca's mom a.s.sured me that motherhood would come naturally to me and that I'd be great at nurturing this baby when he finally arrives. But I'm not sure how much of that is the truth or just their hopeful wishing. Aside from my happy relationship with Jace, I've never been good at anything in my life. What have I accomplished besides graduating high school with all the other students in my cla.s.s?

Not a d.a.m.n thing.

I didn't even pay for my own dinner tonight. Nor my wedding dress, or anything else I use in this life. I am completely worthless and a total drain on Jace's life and finances. He could be working more if it wasn't for me always wanting him to take a day or two off to hang out with me. He'd have a ton of money if he didn't pay my doctor bills and buy me stuff all the time. And he wouldn't be tied down to a life of being with me and our child if I had never entered his life and, in Ian's words, got myself knocked up.

I was supposed to go to college and get a job working at Mixon Motocross Park with Jace. But now that I'm pregnant, he suggested that I wait until our baby is a few years old before I start working. Jace doesn't want me to be stressed out and wants me to relax. Well how can a girl relax when she just realized she's completely worthless and a failure at everything?

Chapter 9.

I had hoped a good night's sleep would wash away all of the pain and turmoil from last night's run in with Ian. But all of that hoping and praying was in vain because as soon as Jace's alarm goes off in the morning, I wake up, stare at the ceiling and become overwhelmed with feelings of hopelessness.

And as much as I don't want to admit it to myself, seeing Ian after so long away from him brought back some awful memories. Not memories of happiness or longing, that's for d.a.m.n sure, but memories of that summer I spent away from home. Ian was the reason I had gotten grounded and sent away to stay with my grandparents for three months. He was the selfish p.r.i.c.k who begged me to send him a dirty photo from my cell phone and I was the idiot who went along with it.

I was so stupid back then. I can't believe I used to like Ian. Like, really like him. I thought about him nonstop and I doodled his name in my notebook like some kind of teenage airhead. All of that pathetic adoration was completely unfounded because Ian didn't do anything to deserve it. It wasn't romantic or charming. He treated me like s.h.i.t and somehow that made me want to try even harder to make him like me.

I always had to message him first and he would take forever to reply. He never wanted to talk about my day or listen to my thoughts about things I cared about. He just wanted to hook up and when we couldn't hook up due to my curfew, or Mom being too strict, all he wanted to do was talk about hooking up. As much as I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from ever dating him in the first place, I can't. And I wouldn't even if I could, because Ian getting me grounded was what led me to meet Jace.

The bed shifts as Jace sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his shoes. "Do you love me?" I ask, my voice raspy from a night of sleep.

"With all of my heart," he says.

I roll over and bury my head in the pillow. "Good," I murmur as I feel the pull of sleep take over. "I love you, too."

At a much more manageable hour of the morning, after Jace has left for work, I finally wake up and find my best friend happy and looking less poisoned from gluten on the couch. She grasps a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.

"Ooohh, I want some," I say, eyeing the steam rising off her mug.

She nods her head toward the kitchen. "I've got the Keurig all set up for you. Just press the b.u.t.ton."

I rush over and press the b.u.t.ton, smiling when I see she's chosen the ugliest mug in the cabinet for me. This mug was a gag gift from her to me when I moved in with Jace a few months ago. "Every home needs an ugly mug," she had said. "Just to remind you where you came from."

It is big and heavy and has an ugly Christmas sweater type print all around it. Pixelated reindeer shapes and big green and red faux-st.i.tching letters that read Happy Holidays. You can still see the twenty-five cent thrift store price tag written in permanent marker on the bottom because that stuff does not come off in the dishwasher.

Becca chops up a basket of strawberries, separating them into two piles for the both of us. I pour sugar on top of my pile and she rolls her eyes at me. "That kind of defeats the purpose of having a healthy breakfast."

I poke out my stomach as far as it'll go and pat it with confidence. "Yeah, well I am eating for two and at least one of us wants sugar on these strawberries."

We eat and watch trashy reality television and everything is fun and happy for about five minutes. Then, from out of nowhere like some kind of emotional punch to the gut, I remember last night. Ian and the way he made me feel. The things he made me think.

"You okay?" Becca asks. I nod and put on my best smile. It seems to work because she goes back to watching the TV. I'm tempted to tell her all about it. If I do, I know she'll launch into a verbal counter attack, calling Ian every bad name in the book and then telling me everything I want to hear. Things like how I'm not a s.h.i.tty person and how I shouldn't let him get to me because he's an idiot and I am a great person.

If I told her about my emotional pain right now, she would hug me and make it all better. But I keep my mouth shut. I'm not sure if I'm ready to let all of this go and pretend like I'm not a ma.s.sive embarra.s.sment to myself and a disappointment to Jace. I'm not sure if I deserve to be comforted by a well-meaning best friend right now.

The Sunnyside Bakery is a small standalone building on the outskirts of Mixon. It looks like it used to be a Victorian style home, but over the years it was painted a pale yellow and transformed into a bakery. There are other bakeries in town and it might have been smart to sample all of them before deciding, but Sunnyside Bakery came highly recommended by Molly, who is the wife of Mr. Fisher at Mixon Motocross Park. I would be insane not to trust her opinion. Plus, I didn't trust my waistline if I had sampled from more than one bakery.

"Oh my G.o.d, this place smells so good," Becca croons as we get out of her car. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. "I think I just gained five pounds from by smelling the air."

I wish I could share in her weight-gain-by-inhalation, but the smell of sugary foods just makes me nauseous at the moment.

There aren't any other people inside when we enter the bakery, but soft music plays from a speaker somewhere in the ceiling and the scent of freshly baked pastries lets us know someone is probably in the back.

"Are you sure she was expecting us?" I ask. Becca, ever the most perfect maid of honor, had called ahead and made us an appointment.

Becca nods. "Yep. Stop worrying."

Luckily, I don't have to worry. A plump woman with dark black hair emerges from the back room, patting her hands on the front of her pink ap.r.o.n. The name Carol is emblazoned on the top in curly letters made of rhinestones. "h.e.l.lo there!" she says, waving at us from the other side of the counter. "Are you my two o'clock?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, stepping forward and shaking her hand from across the cla.s.s countertop. Dozens of beautifully decorated sweet treats beckon to me from beneath the gla.s.s. "I'm Bayleigh."

"So nice to meet you," she says, turning to my best friend. "And, Becca, right?" Becca nods and shakes her hand. I'm not sure what Becca had told her when she first made our appointment, but I'm eternally grateful for the soft way Carol smiles at us and how she treats us like real customers. I guess in the back of my mind I had been afraid that I'd be treated with judgment for being so young. I shove my hands into the pockets of my zippered hoody. It isn't cold outsidein fact it's shorts and sandals weather as evidenced by my sparkly pink flip flops and cut off jean shorts. I just couldn't stop myself from wearing the hoody because it allows me to do exactly what I'm doing now: shove my hands in the pockets, zip up the bottom half and walk around covering my ever-growing belly. You know, just in case she doesn't know. Just in case some people don't know.

Carol seats us at a table in the center of the bakery and dashes off to retrieve our samples. I'm not sure what Becca has set up for us today because a week ago when she had called to ask about it, I was in the middle of a morning sickness puke session and had told her to use her best judgment because at that exact moment, I didn't give a d.a.m.n.

Becca gnaws on her bottom lip as she sits across from me. "What is it?" I ask. "You're not supposed to be more nervous than I am, you know."

She chuckles. "I just hope you like the colors and the flavors and stuff."

"I'll like whatever you choose, I promise. You know me really well."

Carol emerges from the back room and Becca draws in a deep breath. I want to roll my eyes at how irrationally silly she's being, but I don't because I freak out about the dumbest things as well. Carol sets a white cake box on the table in front of us. "How many other bakeries have you tried?" she asks, sliding her finger under the cardboard flap to open up the box.

"None," I say. "Molly Fisher said we should come here so we did."

Carol beams. "Oh, Molly is the sweetest thing ever. Well, I hope you girls enjoy! What we have here is a sample of the double chocolate cupcakes and the French vanilla cupcakes. I told Becca you'd probably want both flavors so your guests could choose."

I nod. "Sounds good to me." Carol continues talking about the natural ingredients and special flavors she uses, and still hasn't fully opened the cake box yet, so we can't see inside at the creations that wait for us, and I lean forward, antic.i.p.ation taking over my whole body. And then I see something on the box that makes me forget all about the cupcakes.

The paper order slip taped to the side of the box reads: Adams, Jace and Bayleigh.

Chills dance across my body. Carol's handwriting is a beautiful script and I love the way she swooped the cursive J and B of our names. But what I love more than anything is the way our names look together.