Bullseye.
The container of whatever that was hits me squarely in the forehead and clatters to the floor. She has a good arm, I’ll give her that. That rang my bell a little.
“What are you doing?!” she hollers at me.
“What amIdoing? Why did you chuck a thing of food at my face?!”
“You scared me half to death! Why are you sneaking around in the dark like that?” Oh, she’s definitely cranky.
“I don’t know! I thought you were asleep!” I don’t know why we’re yelling at each other. There's a lot of adrenaline flying around this room and I really hope we haven’t woken up Immy. “Why haven’t you turned on any lights?”
“I don’t know, okay!” She takes a deep breath and lowers her voice, “I’m sorry I threw that at you. It was a knee-jerk reaction. I thought you were a serial killer.”
“It’s okay.” I lean down to scoop up the container of food. It’s a Snack. I feel a twinge of sadness when I see that the cucumber egg wraps have unrolled and disassembled inside the container.Aw, man. My Snack.I sigh. “Makes sense. You’re in a locked room, in a resort covered in security cameras, in the absolute middle of nowhere.”
It’s still pretty dim in this kitchen, but I swear I see her face turn deep red. Her eyes shift around like she’s looking for an exit. “Well…” she lets out a breathy laugh, “I was listening to a true crime podcast when you came in. Ever since I started listening to that stupid thing everyone is a potential serial killer. I’m always on the verge of being murdered.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t listen to serial killer podcasts alone in the dark? Just a thought.”
“You think?” she snaps, and immediately backtracks, biting her lip in a way that makes me forgive her instantly. “Sorry. I think I’m hungry.”
I crack open the container of food, and quickly reassemble a wrap. I hold one out to her. A peace offering. “Want some?”
“Yes, please.”
We sit on the stools that line the counter, shoulder to shoulder in the dim kitchen, and share my snack. There are six wraps. I do the gentlemanly thing and offer three to Sunny, but this means I’ll be in an even bigger calorie deficit than usual. Maybe I can splurge and have a bowl of Immy’s cereal. I can’t live like this; getting worked up and excited over the prospect of a bowl of Captain Crunch Berries. Whatever role I play next, there will be zero shirtless scenes.
We’re both munching contentedly in silence when I say, “Let’s listen to your podcast,” because I can’t stand the quiet, and Sunny is kind of reserved when she’s not yelling at me for turning up in my own suite.
“Sure.” She hands me both earbuds.
I pass one right back. “Let’s listen together, now that I’m here to protect you from serial killers,” I say with a wink. Oliver wouldn’t approve of any of this, but Oliver doesn’t need to know.
Her cheeks flush again and I stifle the urge to touch them. She looks so soft. She smiles and presses the button on her earbud to restart the podcast, taking a dainty bite of a wrap.
Then there’s a man’s voice in my ear:“When Laura Miller returned home on the night of September 8, 1983, she didn’t know she was walking into a crime scene. The door was unlocked. She entered her living room and found her roommate, Veronica, facedown on the carpet in a pool of her own blood and vomit, a broken fireplace poker at her side…”
I can’t push the pause button fast enough. When I can’t find the button, I give up and yank the earbud out of my ear.
“Why?” It’s the only word that comes to mind. I have so many questions. I eye the innocent looking woman at my side, who is eating her cucumber wrap like it’s just a normal night of snacks and gory murder scenes.
“It’s fascinating,” she says with a shrug.
This woman is caring for my child.
“You big chicken,” she says, and a teasing light flashes in her dark eyes. “Besides, I’ve seen all your movies. You’ve been in stuff way scarier than this.”
“Those aren’t true stories, though,” I start to explain, but then my mind catches up with her words. “Wait, you’ve seenallof my movies?” Obviously, most people have seen at least one of my movies. Why do I care that Sunny has seen them? Specifically, why do I care that Sunny has seenallof them? My ego is enjoying this.
"Did I say that?” She fidgets with her glasses, pushing them up on her nose. The action should be kind of nerdy, but it makes my pulse jump. “I've seen one or two, I guess."
"Sunny?"
"Yeah?"
"You're a bad actress." I bump her shoulder with mine, "Be honest. How many have you seen? Which one is your favorite?”
“Um…” She screws her lips to the side as if her response to this question requires deep concentration and analysis.
