5 months later.

Kian's eyes are fixed on me as I concentrate on making the perfect torte. I feel heat rising in my face.

"Stop looking at me. You're making me nervous," I mutter without meeting his gaze.

"I love looking at you. You're beautiful," he says. I sigh and, after tasting the torte, realize it's not as good as Mom's. In frustration, I slam my hand down onto the cake. 

Kian wraps an arm around my waist and kisses me gently. I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I'm terrible at baking," I moan.

"You'll perfect it," he reassures me.

"You perfected yours in just...