Bonus Epilogue
Four Years Later . . .
My heart is seconds from exploding out of my chest like a confetti canon. How is this my life right now? I am a donut shop owner, not someone who belongs on television. So can someone explain to me why I’m about to go on national TV?!
When I took over full ownership of Darlin’ Donuts I was honestly just hoping to keep it in business. My only goal was to not let it tank like my flower truck business had. I never ever imagined it would become this—a donut shop, turned social media sensation, turned nationwide franchise—and lead to me being a guest on the most prominent morning show in America.
And I’m going to throw up all over my hot pink outfit. (Oh no. This better be nerves and not Zoe, stomach bug.)
I’m waiting in the wings of the stage, watching Violet and Tom chitchat with their cups of coffee about what they each did yesterday, waiting for my cue to follow the woman with the headset and iPad out onto the stage. There’s an entire set to the right of the cozy living room set where the hosts do their morning intro, and it’s staged with a Darlin’ Donuts backdrop and a worktable where I’m going to teach them to make a donut. Feel free to be quirky and make mistakes because our viewers love that kind of thing, the producer of the show told me as if messing up wasn’t something that was a for sure done deal no matter how hard I try to keep it from happening.
Onstage, Violet mentions how her puppy chewed up her favorite pair of heels last night, and for some reason, this very domestic statement makes my heart squeeze. I wish Ryan was here. I’d be 80 percent more calm if he were holding my hand, giving me that sideways grin that always fills me with endless confidence.
But he’s home right now instead of here in New York with me because yesterday afternoon, just before we had to leave for our flight, our three-year-old daughter, Zoe, started puking from a bad stomach bug. With zero complaints, Ryan offered to stay home with her to give me peace of mind and keep my mom (who was going to babysit for us) from catching anything. Ryan is incredible at sharing the parental load, and it’s one of the many reasons I love him.
As if he can feel me thinking about him, my phone buzzes from the pocket of my bubblegum pink cargo jumper. It’s one of those outfits that makes me look like a mechanic if you look past the white polka dots all over it or the giant Darlin’ Donuts rhinestone logo on the back.
RYAN(MR. DARCY): I’m ready for Violet to stop talking about her damn puppy.
I smile down at my screen as the world around me fades.
JUNE: It’s sweet! She’s being relatable.
RYAN (MR. DARCY): The heel was Prada.
JUNE: You’re being snooty.
RYAN (MR. DARCY): I’m just eager to see your pretty face on the screen. I’ve missed you today.
How is it that after being married for three years, butterflies still surge in my stomach when he says things like that to me?
JUNE: I’ve been missing you! How’s everything going with Zoe? I hate that I’m not around to help.
RYAN (MR. DARCY): Stop that. I’ve got everything under control. Enjoy your moment—you deserve it.
RYAN (MR. DARCY): And she’s finally sleeping soundly after a long night, so I’m going to get a shower now and wash off all the vomit caked onto my skin.
JUNE: Sounds sexy.
RYAN (MR. DARCY): Do you need me to erase that mental image for you?
A photo comes through next that has my face turning into lava. I immediately (and suspiciously) angle my phone away from the stage crew lady beside me and ogle the ridiculously sexy photo of Ryan’s mirror selfie. He’s wearing black boxer briefs and nothing else. I would like to lick his abs.
And just like that, I’m no longer thinking about going on live TV in a few minutes. My brain is obsessing over my husband and how we’ve both been absurdly busy of late and haven’t had near enough naked time with each other. Between running our two businesses and keeping up with the social life of a three-year-old (which is shockingly vibrant, I might add), we’ve been like ships in the night. Happy ships, but ships nonetheless.
It’s mid ogle that the stage lady looks over at me. “Ready? Almost time to go on.”
I slam my phone against my chest and no one else has ever looked so guilty in all of history. I give a meek smile and tuck my phone back into my pocket. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She nods, and I listen as Tom announces the commercial break. This is it. I know I have roughly two minutes before I have to walk out onto that stage in front of the cameras and studio audience.
The night before flying out, as I was lying in bed and spiraling about the idea of live television, I whispered to the ceiling,“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Ryan’s fingers found mine under the comforter and he whispered back, “I can. It’s what you deserve.”
I clutch those words to my heart as I get the final warning nod from Stage Lady and then see Violet and Tom get into position on the part of the stage that’s designated for Darlin’ Donuts. For me.
The green light flashes on the camera and Violet talks me up. “You may know our next guest as the Queen of Donuts. The woman who swept into our lives via social media and stole our hearts with her Just Peachy donuts. She has not only built her donut empire from scratch, but has catered parties for celebrities all over the U.S., and recently launched her nationwide franchising. Please join us in welcoming . . .”
Stage Lady looks back at me with saucer eyes and begins counting down on her fingers while silently miming three, two, one!
“June Henderson, owner of Darlin’ Donuts!”
Annnnnd we’re walking. But then, just as we rehearsed, Stage Lady stops just at the edge of the curtain, and I keep going without her. Please don’t face-plant, June. Better yet, please don’t have toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoes!
The bright lights hit as I emerge from backstage. I smile and wave out at a roaring crowd.
“It went okay, right? I think it was okay?” I ask the headset lady the second I step backstage. But she’s doesn’t answer. The woman standing behind her does.
“You were incredible. And after I finish my segment, I plan to stuff my face with your amazing donuts and take any leftovers back to my husband.”
I lock eyes with the woman and my stomach bottoms out. That’s . . . that’s . . .
“Rae Rose,” she says with a smile, extending her hand for me to shake. OMG, the queen of soulful pop is extending her hand for me to shake. This is wild. Surreal. Unbelievable. Is it really happening to me? The day is a dream.
I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor in just enough time to shake her hand. Am I losing it or is her hand the softest hand I’ve ever felt in my life? Just her presence is sweet and comforting in a weird sort of way. Like I’m fairly certain I’m her best friend in the entire world now. She’s wearing an all-black sequined jumpsuit that glitters in a thousand different ways and makes me want to throw my bubblegum pink one in the trash.
“I’m Ryan Henderson,” I say, and then I pause. “No. Sorry. That’s my husband’s name. I’m Rae Rose.” Oh god! “NO! You’re Rae Rose. I am June Henderson.” Someone please knock me out and carry me away on a stretcher. I’ll never recover from this embarrassment.
Rae Rose—who I still cannot believe is standing in front of me in the flesh—just smiles like she thinks I’m adorable. “It’s lovely to meet you, June.” She looks over my shoulder and nods at someone. And then Rae Rose lightly touches my arm and aims an earth-shattering smile at me. “So sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to get out there. It was really nice meeting you. I’m going to be in touch about having you cater an event for me coming up!”
“I’d love to!” I say as she floats by me and a very stern-looking woman in a suit (her bodyguard most likely) assumes a position right at the edge of the stage. The wild cheer of the audience suddenly cracks through the studio. I thought their cheer for me was loud, but for Rae Rose, it’s breaking sound barriers.
And that’s when I realize how incredible my life is—because even though I’m standing here watching a pop star talk about her upcoming album, I’m thinking about how eager I am to catch my flight home to Ryan and Zoe.
The Uber drops me off outside my house and I take a minute to just stand here and smile at our rainbow Christmas lights. We’re the only house on the block with them still up—and I’m not mad about it. It’s only 5:24 P.M. as I walk in the house, but everything is quiet as if it’s midnight. I’m used to the sound of Zoe talking nonstop and running through the house like a wild boar. But upon closer inspection, I see that the light is off in her room down the hall, and the door is cracked.
I toss my purse on the hook by the door and pad as quietly as possible down the hall. When I peek through the crack, I smile at Zoe in her bed, sound asleep under my beloved Nick Lachey blanket. And she’s not alone. Ryan is passed out on the floor beside her bed with his arm up in the air, holding on to her sweet little hand.
Oh, be still my fragile heart.
I tiptoe into the room, squat down next to Ryan (who I know has to be exhausted to have accidentally fallen asleep like this), and whisper his name. He jolts awake, looking like he’s not sure what century he woke up in. His hair is all disheveled, and he’s wearing sweatpants with a soft dark green T-shirt. Honestly, he’s never looked better.
When he finally realizes I’m the one who whispered his name, a slow smile curls his mouth. I hitch my head for him to follow me out of the room. With the precision of a jewel thief, Ryan slips his hand out from under Zoe’s, and he replaces it with a stuffed animal. This isn’t amateur hour.
He follows me out of the room and softly, softly closes Zoe’s door behind him. Once it clicks shut, I don’t waste a second before wrapping my arms around his middle and squeezing. He hugs me back, laying his cheek against my head, and I swear nothing in my life beats this.
“Hi,” I say with a contented sigh against his chest.
“Welcome home, June Bug.” He kisses my head.
“Zoe doing okay? I can’t believe she’s still sleeping.”
“She’s much better. But she only napped for about an hour today—she was just too worn out to stay awake any longer, even though she was dying to see her famous mommy, as she referred to you all day. I took a video of her watching you on TV. Cutest damn thing you’ll ever see.”
I laugh quietly. “I can’t wait.”
“For real, though, you did amazing, June. I’m so proud of you,” he says, walking me backward down the hall toward our kitchen, but never breaking contact. I place my bare feet on top of his socked ones and use him like skis.
“Did you see when I accidentally puffed flour all over the front of Violet’s dress?”
He grunts a laugh while stopping us beside the fridge. “Yes. It was the best TV I’ve seen all year.”
“I think she was actually kind of annoyed by it,” I say as he leans around me, my arms still locked around his waist and his hand against my back while he pulls a leftover breakfast frittata from the fridge.
He backs us toward the microwave. “Well, hey—look at it this way, if you hadn’t ruined it, her puppy would have anyway.” After clicking thirty seconds on the microwave, Ryan slides his hands down to my waist and props me on the countertop, stepping between my legs.
“My favorite part, though, was when you said I taste test all your new recipes.” A wicked gleam sparks in his eyes and I know exactly why.
“I knew you’d like that.”
Because last time I had him taste test a recipe for me, it somehow ended up with us naked in the kitchen. Best day of cooking ever.
His eyes drop to my mouth and his hands—those hands I love more than sugar—glide up my thighs. And then the annoying microwave beeps and he twists around to pull the frittata out. Ryan is very serious about food and making sure we all eat three delicious meals a day.
And this, he knows, is my favorite meal as of late.
He hovers the plate between us while grabbing a fork from the drawer beside me. He looks sleepy as he cuts an eggy bite with the side of the fork prongs and then scoops it up, blowing on it and extending it toward my mouth. I’m smiling like a fool, watching him dote on me. “You really missed me.”
His mouth hitches up. “A little bit.”
And it’s these moments that make life feel so special. Yes—the big grand ones like I had this morning are incredible, but it’s these micro moments in the kitchen where my husband is feeding me a gourmet frittata from a purple toddler fork that I live for.
I can’t believe I ever used to fear falling in love with him.
“How was your day with Zoe?” I ask on the last bite. Ryan takes the plate from me and sets it aside, guiding my legs to wrap around his waist before picking me up off the counter. He carries me into the living room and deposits me on the couch, crawling on top of me and then wrapping his arms around my waist to flip us so I’m covering him.
“Let’s just say—I didn’t realize a person as small as Zoe could have so much liquid inside her.”
I laugh while simultaneously feeling terrible he had to take on the brunt of disgusting parenting today. But this is what we do. Life ebbs and flows for both of us, and when one of us needs extra help, the other steps up. It’s one of the many reasons our relationship works. “You think she’s past the worst of it?”
He nods, smiling softly as he runs his hands through my hair. “Yeah, she’s good to go now.” He pauses as his eyes sweep over my face. “You look pretty.”
“You look pretty,” I say, touching my finger to his full lips.
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. I love his grin. I love when the black centers of his eyes eat up the brown. I love when I feel his heart rate pick up and his skin grows hot and to know that I do that to him. I love everything about him.
“You know . . . it’s almost the end of January,” I say, scooting up his body to level my face with his.
He runs his fingers lazily up and down my arm. “Mm-hmm?”
I lower my face and kiss him. Slowly. No hurry. “We should probably take the Christmas lights down before the neighbors complain.”
His hand slides down the curve of my spine, lower and lower until his big hand settles over my right butt cheek. He squeezes, and his smile is a wild thing. “I’ll get right on it.”
He doesn’t. He kisses me over and over again, his tongue slipping into my mouth and hands wandering all over the place. After a few minutes of kissing like we have all the time in the world, Ryan shifts and settles his lips once again against my throat. “I’m proud of you, June. And I’m so damn lucky to have you as my wife and partner in life.”
I think I must be sleep deprived, too, because my eyes well up with misty tears. “I think that every single day about you.”
He lays his head back against the couch cushion and looks up at me, eyes searching deep in my soul for any hints of a lie before he pushes my hair behind my ear. “Even when life is like this? Hectic and mundane at the same time?”
I smile, kissing him once softly. “Especially then.”
“Why especially?”
“Because even in the trenches of parenting and building a business, even when Zoe is crying at the table because she hates what we fixed for dinner, even when Stacy and Logan crash in our living room for way too long over New Year’s, I have the best time experiencing it all with you—which makes me see that I’m ridiculously lucky.”
And then, because I can’t seem to get close enough to him, I lift his shirt and climb up through it, squeezing my head through the neck hole with him.
“You’re going to stretch out my shirt, you mongrel,” he says, but affection is running throughout his tone. “I have the best time with you, too, June.”
I nuzzle against the crook of his neck like a cat, all but purring when he runs his hand over my scalp. “We have so many glittering moments ahead of us, Ryan. I’ll love sharing those with you just as much as I love this one—living with you in your shirt.”
“I love you.” He kisses my head and then reaches for the remote, clicking on the TV. “Now, I’ve got to show you the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I groan. “Tell me you didn’t record my segment.”
“Oh, I did.” He sounds way too excited about it. I have a feeling he’s going to show it to everyone who comes over.
“Let’s have sex instead.”
“Can’t,” Ryan says matter-of-factly. “Zoe is going to wake up any second, I feel it in my dadly bones. But don’t worry—I have solid plans for later tonight. I was thinking it over in the shower.”
“Oooo,” I wiggle a little against him, drawing a laugh from him. “Tell me more.”
“You won’t distract me. We’re going to watch this over and over—my god, look how cute you are waving at the crowd.”
I give up and lay my head just under his chin, closing my eyes and savoring this quiet moment with Ryan instead of watching myself on the show.
He keeps narrating his favorite moments while running his fingers through my hair, and as I drift off into a nap with Ryan’s shirt as my blanket, all I can think is there’s nowhere else I’d rather be but here. Confident that no matter what life throws at us, we’ll always be this close.