I smile deviously. “Is your tongue numb?”
“Oh yeah. Well done, June. You won this round.”
I’m so caught up in my glorious victory that I absentmindedly take another bite of my donut. It only makes it halfway down my throat when I remember how it was making my stomach recoil a minute ago. My eyes go wide, and my mouth freezes.
Ryan and Stacy both look alarmed, and they should, because I’m about to hurl on their feet. I get ready to make a break for the bathroom, but Ryan grabs a giant disposable pastry box and puts it under my chin.
Once I’m finished with it, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to look at a pastry box the same way again.
“I thought you said you didn’t do anything to that donut,” Ryan says while rubbing my back after I finish throwing up.
“I didn’t.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well…” I guess now is as good a time as any. “I was going to do something supercheesy and make you open a present on Christmas morning with a trophy like Stacy’s. Except yours says World’s Best Dad. But I guess this is actually more our style, telling you over a prank war.”
His eyes are wide, and I can see every gorgeous flake of gold and black, and all I can think is how excited I am to pose with him in this year’s Christmas photo instead of Douglas Fir.
“June,” Ryan says in a firm tone while cupping my face in both of his hands, “are you trying to tell me that…that…”
I tilt my chin up to Ryan and smile. “I’m pregnant!”
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.”
