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.”
