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Beside her, Marlowe said, “No one is letting you get up on a bike, Grandma.”

Mrs. Partridge had a lot to say about that, including something about headlining in Vegas. Sometimes it was hard to know when to worry about her.

Jace saw Lucas and Riley in the audience too, and a text from his brother came through. I dare you to sing karaoke while you’re up there.

So maybe his mother had a point after all.

Jace didn’t have time to text back. His mother welcomed the crowd, shook the raffle ticket box, and drew out the winner’s name for a gift basket from a local store. Cheering ensued. Jace bent down, picked up the basket, and handed it to the excited recipient.

He went through the process a half dozen more times. It must have been all the bending down that worked the baby booties out of his pocket. He didn’t even notice them until they fell off the stage. At that point, his mother had gotten to the three biggest prizes, and Trevor, one of the firemen, won the Yellowstone Inn vacation.

Trevor ran to the stage, grinning. He bent down, picked up the booties, and held them dangling from his hand as he climbed the steps. “Dude,” he said, half-laughing. “What have you been up to?” The way he lifted them, the entire audience could see what they were.

Yeah, that needed some explanation. “Those aren’t mine,” Jace said. “They’re for Marlowe’s future baby.”

He hadn’t thought that the microphone would pick up anything from where he stood.

It was the sudden and immediate silence that caused him to look into the crowd. Everyone was gaping at him—well, everyone except Mrs. Partridge and Pastor Curtis, who had both turned to gawk at Marlowe.

She was bright red and staring at him in confusion.

His mother made a sound that was half-gasp, half his name said like a swear word.

Jace, who’d never been used to being the center of attention, suddenly felt that his brain went offline. “Future baby,” he repeated as though that clarified the matter, then realized that, no, it actually didn’t. Lucas’s mouth was literally hanging open.

“Uh, they’re just for inspiration,” Jace said louder. “Only inspiration.”

Some dude in the back of the crowd hollered, “If she gets tired of your inspiration, she can give mine a try.”

This was not getting better. Jace could feel his mother glaring holes into him. Marlowe had her hand over her face and looked like she wanted to sink into the ground.

And yet Jace couldn’t seem to help himself; he scowled at the guy and yelled, “Never gonna happen, bro! Keep your inspiration to yourself.”

Did the fact that he was shouting things at a stranger mean that Marlowe was bringing out the best or the worst in him? He couldn’t decide.

Marlowe shrank down further and put her hand to her brow.

The pastor turned to her. “Any time you want to talk, my door is open.”

“Vision board,” Jace told his mother. Those had been the words he’d been searching for earlier. “I got them for Marlowe’s vision board.”

His mother glowered, unappeased. “Well, you should’ve bought her a ring for that vision board before you went out shopping for baby items.”

The nice thing about knowing things couldn’t get worse was that it took the pressure off Jace to not act like an idiot. He’d already crossed that bridge, reached that level, and any other metaphor that meant Marlowe probably wouldn’t speak to him for a while. He leaned closer to the mic. “To be clear, the only thing Marlowe has had in the oven lately is some pies, which is a reminder for everyone to check out the baked goods in the silent auction.” He stepped away from the mic and gestured to his mother. “Carry on.”

“Can I?” she asked stiffly. She sent him a look that said they would be discussing this later, and she read the next two winners quickly and angrily. The crowd cheered for them anyway.

After that was done, Jace hopped down from the stage and made a beeline to Marlowe. She was still bright pink and shaking her head, but she also laughed, which gave him hope he hadn’t completely mortified her.

“I’m so sorry,” he told her.

Mrs. Partridge regarded him. “I am too. I didn’t win the e-bike. My day is irrevocably ruined.”

Jace turned to the pastor, still trying to do damage control. “The baby booties were for Marlowe’s vision board because she told me that she wants children. Someday. Definitely not nine months from now.”

The pastor nodded, his lips pressed together. “A worthy goal.” His face betrayed no emotion. It was possible he didn’t have a sense of humor.

Jace glanced at Marlowe and then back at her grandmother. “Can I talk to Marlowe privately for a minute?”