For the Love of Donuts

11. A Certain Closet Situation

Skye

I don’t know how we did it, but somehow, we managed to survive the brunch. And crazily enough, Tatum and I weren’t even the main focus like I had anticipated. We got overshadowed by Johnny’s videos and pictures of Merlin , the new dog he adopted.

And in case you were wondering, yes, Johnny is a medieval fanboy.

I mean, sure , Holly and Kym were throwing some coy looks in my direction. And sure , Zoya smiled every time her gaze landed on me or Tatum. And sure , I had to flaunt the ring a little bit.

However, other than that? The brunch was uneventful.

We have a problem though. There’s an undeniable, yet silent and TOTALLY deadly, awkwardness between Tatum and me. Or maybe nothing’s wrong, and I’m just losing my mind.

I don’t know.

Pretending like we had been making out in the supply closet seemed like a good idea—Holly and Kym obviously believed it—but it was kind of weird. Being so close to Tatum like that?

I know I’m the one who told him to act like we had been kissing. I know I’m the one who put his arms around me. And I know I’m the one who grabbed the back of his neck like it was a lifeline.

But I honestly wasn’t expecting him to lean in like he did.

I wasn’t expecting that flash of heat to creep up my neck when his nose grazed the side of mine. And I wasn’t expecting to feel so… cold when he pulled away from me. And…dazed. I wasn’t expecting to feel dazed either.

What the heck is going on? We were only pretending that we had made out, for crying out loud! It’s not like we actually did. That would’ve been even worse.

Also, I’m back in the bathroom again.

Don’t worry, I’m not suffering from another wedgie. Thankfully, my butt is behaving.

I’m in here, though, because I needed to regain my composure before Tatum and I leave.

Together. In my car. Alone. Together. Me and Tatum.

I think I’ve been in here too long, in all honesty. Thank God I didn’t eat any of those spicy omelets, otherwise I’d be crapping my brains out right now instead of pacing the tiled floor while fidgeting with my hair.

Dang it, Skye! Enough is enough!

If I stay in here any longer, the postal service will have to start forwarding my mail to this freaking bathroom.

Okay, I’m good now.

I clearly overreacted about the whole “closet thing,” and I’m ready to get on with my life.

So, I whip around to face the mirror, and I give myself a firm nod before striding out of the bathroom. As if I have some kind of internal tracker that can find Tatum without even trying, it takes me less than five seconds to spot him standing off to the side.

He’s talking to our new intern.

Lola.

I’m pretty sure that’s her name. Also, I’m not an expert on body language or anything, but she’s like RIGHT next to him. And she’s twirling a strand of her shiny, cinnamon-colored hair around her finger while—

Did she just bite her lip?! The girl is only freaking eighteen years old! I know she’s legally an adult, but she is still fresh out of high school and has NO business flirting with Tatum.

Because he’s too old for her.

And he’s technically supposed to be my fiancé.

Right. Exactly.

Those are perfectly appropriate reasons why Lola needs to dial it back a thousand notches, and then another notch after that for good measure.

I guess I should go over there. But not like, in a possessive “HE’S MINE, BACK OFF” kind of way. I’m his fake fiancée, not a crazy girlfriend. Lola’s high school days might not be that far behind her, but mine were five years ago, and I have maturity on my side.

LOTS of maturity.

I casually—in a very mature way—stroll over to where they’re standing, and I fight the urge to grab Tatum’s hand and lead him away from Lola’s overeager gaze. After all, when I led him away earlier, it ended with us “not making out” in the supply closet. We don’t need a repeat of that.

“Skye,” Tatum greets me first, “there you are.” His dark eyes silently add, Thank God.

A laugh almost leaves my mouth, but it turns into a tiny gasp when he slips an arm around my waist. Tatum putting his arm around me isn’t a big deal. It’s nothing foreign. But my mind—and heart—is freaking out because of what happened—didn’t happen?—in that darn closet!

“I didn’t know you were engaged, Skye,” Lola says in a dry tone.

I feel like she’s judging me.

It’s almost intimidating.

Why are teenagers so intimidating now??

Tatum’s thumb brushes against my side—which I would normally find calming and reassuring—but now the simple action has me feeling anxious and tense.

“Um, yeah,” I address Lola, trying to seem unfazed by Tate’s touch, “I wasn’t quite ready to tell everyone about it, but then we just figured it was time.”

“Well, congrats,” she replies, not looking happy for us at all. “I hope this means we’ll be seeing more of Tatum here at the office.” She directs her coy attention to Tatum and tilts her head to the side. “Will we?”

Is this girl for real right now?

“I think so.” Tatum gives me a light squeeze. “That is, if Skye doesn’t get tired of me first.”

I smack his chest in a careless, loving way. “Like I could ever get tired of you, Tatester.”

Aw, look at us being adorable and coupley!

It’s just enough to make Lola wrinkle her nose.

But then she smirks before touching Tatum’s arm, because she’s obviously a child and can’t keep her hands to herself. “Well, let’s hope not. See ya around.”

And she doesn’t even spare me a glance as she walks past us, toward one of our coworkers.

Ugh. What a little—

“I thought you’d never get out of the bathroom,” Tatum mutters with a heavy sigh. “I was dying, Carson.”

My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. “Were you guys talking the whole time I was in the bathroom?”

I wouldn’t have stayed in there so long if I would’ve known that Lola was going to hold him hostage.

He uses his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “She was doing most of the talking…” His arm is still around me. “I thought she’d give up once I told her that I was your fiancé, but then she seemed more determined to keep the conversation going.”

Um, homewrecker much?

“Anyway,” Tatum continues with a huff, “you ready to get out of here?”

“Very.”

Sure, I was being paranoid about us leaving together.

Alone.

Just the two of us.

But I’m over that. This is freaking TATUM. My best friend .

I have no reason to be paranoid.

“So, when are you going to ask Dria about staging fake engagement photos?” Tatum asks as I start driving in the direction of his neighborhood. “Zoya said about including them with your first blog post, right?”

Crap, that’s right. Which means I need pictures by Tuesday—but honestly? I really need them by the end of tomorrow. And I haven’t even STARTED writing the blog post yet. How hard can an “about me” post be, though? These stupid pictures are the problem.

“I guess I’ll ask her about them today.” I hold back a wince. “And maybe we can do it tomorrow? We’re supposed to be celebrating the twins’ adoption anniversary at their house anyway.”

And they have a gorgeous , picturesque backyard thanks to Trey’s landscaping skills.

He’s like some kind of outdoor ninja.

Granted, I feel bad for asking to do this on Lanie and Nova’s special day—which reminds me, I need to wrap that unicorn tonight—but if we plan to do the pictures an hour or so earlier than when Dria told us to come by, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?

“We’ll have to get those donuts too,” Tatum says, adjusting his seatbelt. “We only need a few pictures with them, just enough to meet Zoya’s expectations.” He proceeds to scrub a hand over his face. “I have to go over my portfolio too. Add some new shots.”

The donuts! How could I forget about them?

“I’ll order the donuts,” he continues before I can say anything. “It makes sense because I would technically be the one doing it if this was real, and I’ll pick them up too.”

“I can do that, you don’t have—”

“Nope. We’re a happily engaged couple, remember? No fighting. I’m on donut duty.”

“Fine,” I give in, “but I’m paying for them.”

He tsks at that. “Skye—”

“I’m the reason we even need special proposal donuts,” I cut him off. “Don’t start with me.”

“Of course not, honey ,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “So, it didn’t seem like we had any doubters at the brunch. That’s good, right?”

I know he’s calling me “honey” as a joke, but now I’m thinking about how he called me “baby” in front of Zoya. Would he call me that again? To make our fake relationship look more real?

“Um, yeah,” I answer his question, shifting in my seat. “So far, so good.”

I wonder if he’s going to bring up the whole we-didn’t-make-out-in-the-closet thing…

“I’m sorry about the ‘pink-haired goddess’ comment, by the way.” He gives me a puppy-dog face like he did yesterday. “Forgive me?”

I focus my gaze on the road because I shouldn’t be looking at his full lips and thinking about how close our faces were to each other in the supply closet. It’s just…kind of creepy. And now my neck is hot again for some absurd reason.

“Of course, I forgive you , honey ,” I mimic his earlier reply. “No fighting, just happily engaged.”

“Uh, Skye?”

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

I fake a light-hearted snort. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

You know, besides over-contemplating a certain closet situation.

“Because you just missed the turn for my street, Pink Stuff,” he drawls with a chuckle. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Ah, dang it, Skye! Why aren’t you paying attention to what you’re doing ?

I think the answer is pretty clear.

“I just…” I trail off, making a U-turn. “I just feel like I should apologize too, I guess.”

Maybe apologizing will help ease my mind.

“Apologize?” I can hear the obvious confusion in his voice. “Apologize for what?”

Screw. Me.

“For the whole act-like-we-were-kissing thing in the closet,” I say, making sure I’m on the right track to get to his street. “We probably didn’t need to do that. So, I’m sorry for suggesting it.”

As I say that though, my stomach tightens, and something just doesn’t feel right.

“Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for. It worked, didn’t it? Your coworkers believed that we were making out.”

Hearing him say it out loud is SO much worse than me talking about it in my head.

But he almost sounds unbothered by it. I wish I could relate.

“It wasn’t weird for you though?” I ask, making the correct turn this time. “It didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything? I just don’t want this fake engagement messing up our friendship, ya know?”

“It won’t.” His voice is firm, and his jaw is set. “Our friendship is real, and nothing we do as a fake-engaged couple is going to change that.”

His words should make me feel better about the whole thing, but my stomach seems to tighten even more, and my nerves are still unsettled.

I just don’t know why.

Tatum

“Our friendship is real, and nothing we do as a fake-engaged couple is going to change that.”

I feel like a fraud.

What I told Skye in the car earlier today has been haunting me for hours like a freaking ghost. I meant it, but my gut keeps telling me that I lied to her, which I hate. And when I ordered the “proposal donuts” for tomorrow, all I could think about was this morning’s brunch.

More specifically: Skye and me in the supply closet.

I didn’t answer two of her questions about the whole situation, but it was weird for me.

It did make me a little uncomfortable.

And yet, it also felt natural.

What if? What if? What if?

Friends. We’re friends.

She’s your best friend . She trusts you .

You can’t ruin that just because this fake relationship is blurring the lines.

I cuss in frustration as I turn into Mama and Pops’ neighborhood.

I’m always going to put our friendship first. I’m always going to put Skye first.

But if things were different…

If things were different, she wouldn’t have needed to tell me to pretend that we were kissing—we would’ve been kissing. I would’ve been kissing the heck out of her.

“Cool it, Jacobs,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You’re supposed to be focusing on the friendship you have with her, not on what you don’t have.”

And want .

Maybe I just need to start dating again.

Although, trying to date while I’m “engaged” to Skye probably isn’t the best idea. Either way, tonight is going to be good for me. I love spending time with my parents, and having Skye over too— as my friend —is bound to help keep everything in perspective.

However, when I start walking up my parents’ driveway, the first thing I notice is that Skye isn’t wearing Dria’s ring. And even though she’s only had the ring for a day, her finger looks oddly bare without it, which shouldn’t bother me.

But it does.

Knock it off. You guys aren’t actually engaged. She’s not your fiancée.

Right, there’s no reason for us to act like a couple here.

It can just be us as friends.

Tatum and Skye.

Best friends.

Best. Friends.

Which means I need to be on my best behavior.

I need to have friend-approved thoughts. And ONLY friend-approved thoughts.

“Long time, no see,” she jokes, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Really quick, before we go inside, Dria agreed to help with the engagement pictures tomorrow. I just had to promise her that I’ll watch the twins Friday night so she and Trey can go out.”

Dang, why does her ponytail have to look so freaking cute with those two pieces of hair framing her face? When was the last time she wore her hair like that? Maybe it was—

Focus, Tatum .

Right, I shouldn’t be paying attention to her hair.

Not like that.

“Well, good news,” I manage to say, resisting the urge to touch a few of the pink strands, “I happen to be free Friday night if you want a babysitting buddy. Plus, I have great references.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she verbally waves me off. “You don’t have to rub it in that the twins adore you just a smidge more than they adore me.”

I smirk at that. “What can I say? They have good instincts.”

“I will end you,” she deadpans, pointing a finger at me in a totally non-threatening way. “But not right now, because I’m hungry, and I can smell your mom’s amazing cooking from out here.”

I laugh as she whips around and strolls toward the front porch so she can ring the doorbell.

“You hear that, Jacobs?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at me. “It’s a doorbell. One that works . To let people know someone is waiting outside.”

“Shade much?” I roll my eyes at her. “I’ll get to it. Anna seems pretty adamant that Matt can fix it.”

“We cannot and should not encourage her crazy crush on him.”

“Well, I’ve only heard good things about him and his family’s hardware store.” I slip my hands into my front pockets. “So, if you want the doorbell fixed, someone has to do it. Unless you got another handyman in mind?”

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms, “as long as you finally stop putting it off.”

“I haven’t been—”

“Hey, you two!” Pops greets us, holding the front door open. “Who’s ready for some dinner?”

Skye throws her hand up in an instant. “Me!”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Pops nods in approval before giving Skye a quick hug. “How ya doing, sweetheart?”

Skye makes a frustrated sound and jabs a thumb over her shoulder at me. “Still stuck with this one.”

I scoff before flicking her in the arm. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you were just telling me how amazing I was yesterday.”

“Careful,” Pops laughs, looking between us, “the both of you are starting to sound like me and Gloria.”

“Alton, you better not be talking smack about me!” Mama hollers from inside of the house. “If you are, then you’ll be going to bed hungry, baby!”

The three of us walk inside as Pops gives Mama some snarky remark, and I note that Skye is totally unfazed by my dad comparing us to him and my mom. Meanwhile, I’m starting to freak out. Do Skye and I really sound like them? That was just us going back and forth like we usually do. There wasn’t any faking at all.

“I’m not going to tell you what I’m thinking, Alton Murray Jacobs, because there are children present—” Mama cuts herself off by making all kinds of noise in the kitchen. “—but just know that I’m thinking .”

Skye disappears into the kitchen to greet my mom, and Pops chuckles before widening his eyes at me. “I love giving your mama a hard time, but I still get worried that she’ll carry out one of her crazy threats when I least expect it.”

Everyone knows my mom is a softie, but Pops is right to be worried because Mama can make some definite threats.

“That’s marriage though.” Pops sighs, giving me a firm pat on the back. “So, how are you, son? Everything okay? You seem a little quiet.”

“I’m all right. Just in my head too much sometimes.”

“Hmm,” he hums, stroking his short beard, “any lady problems I should know about?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I shake my head. “Pops…”

“I might not be some Casanova,” he drawls, a smirk on his face, “but I did manage to snatch up your mother way back when.”

“I’m not trying to snatch up anyone, Pops. There’s no girl.”

What if? What if? What if?

“Ah, Tatum…” He gives my shoulder a brief squeeze. “There’s always a girl, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

Oh, but I do realize it.

I realize that Skye is the only girl who’s always been there in my life.

She’s the only girl I want to always be there in my life.

I just can’t do anything about it.