“Sunny!” he exhales into my ear. “She’s fine,” he says to whoever is in the background. It’s most likely his fiancée, Indie. “Where’ve you been? Everyone has been looking for you.” The relief in his voice rings loud and clear.
“I’m nannying, remember? Why didn’t you just call me?” That’s when I notice I have multiple missed calls and texts from him, Mercer, and my mom. Oops. That’s what I get for walking out to my car with hearts in my eyes like a cartoon character. I’ve completely ignored my phone. In my defense, I didn’t think anyone would be panicking about my whereabouts.
“You’re nannying until one in the morning?” He’s switching into big brother mode, which is as endearing as it is irksome.
“Yeah, it was a long night.” I yawn loudly to drive the point home, praying that he’ll drop it so I can go inside and sleep. Right now, all I can think about are my feather pillow and cool sheets.
“I thought filming wrapped around nine? A bunch of the crew had dinner at the resort tonight. I saw Anders Beck skip dinner and walk back toward the suites.”
Who is he, the KGB? “It’s late, Joe. I’m tired. Thanks for covering things for me, but can we talk tomorrow?” Can we reschedule this interrogation?
“I just want to make sure nothing inappropriate is happening. That wouldn’t be good for anyone. I know you’d never do anything, but listen, that guy better keep his hands—”
There’s a shuffling sound on his end of the phone, then, “Sunny?” It’s Indie, bless her. “Your brother was just worried. We’re glad you’re okay,” she says emphatically, like her words are intended for Joe. I can hear the big dork in the background making threats. “Why don’t we see each other more often? We need to catch up. Let’s get lunch one of these days. I want to hear all about your cool nanny gig, but I’m going to let you go. Good night! Say good night, you big oaf,” she sasses Joe.
Suddenly, Indie is fighting back a laugh, and the phone makes a scuffing sound. I can hear Joe’s deep voice teasing her. Now she’s giggling. Gag.
“You guys are gross,” I say, ending the call before I hear anything worse.
Not enough hours later that morning, I park near the front reception area so I can check on my baby before nanny duty begins. I’m never “away” from Nizhóní for this long, ever, and I don’t like it. Between Joe, my mother, and Mercer, the resort should be under control without me. In fact, Joe has helpfully reminded me that I’m still the Padowan to his Jedi in terms of managing this place, the big nerd. So I’m sure everything is running smoothly.
It’s fine.
I’m positive that it’s fine.
I’d better just pop in, though. And if I happen to bump into a certain movie star in the process, so be it.
I check my hair in the glass door on my way inside, relieved to see that the straw-like strands are still glossy from the treatment I did this morning. It will be months before my hair fully recoversfrom the skunk treatment. But the only thing that will help the dark circles around my eyes will be getting more than four consecutive hours of sleep. That needs to happen soon. I yawn as I swing open the door.
“Hey, Merce.” I smile at my friend, who hurriedly removes her boots from her desk.
“Hey. You’re here early. I never heard you come in last night.” She pumps her eyebrows up and down like a cartoon character. “I tried to call you. Joe was freaking out. Wild night?”
I blush at the memory of my movie night with Anders, even though I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t like how freely my mouth runs when I get that tired. That can’t happen again. And Mercer doesn’t need to know the details of my late night with Anders. She’ll read way too much into it and say something incriminating at exactly the wrong time. Best to keep that information to myself for now.
“Something like that. How are things here?” I look around, relieved yet disappointed to see that the place is still standing, despite my absence. “This place is a ghost town.”
“Yeah, it’s these movie people. They don’t come inside so much. The ones who actually eat have the kitchen deliver everything to their rooms.” She leans across the desk and leans toward me conspiratorially. “We get phone calls with the most oddball requests, and always at the worst times. Like last night I had to run to the store to grab this very specific brand of coconut oil for Frankie, Micah Watson’s assistant, becausesomeonecould not live without it at ten o’clock at night.” She rolls her eyes.
My ears are fully perked. What does Micah Watson need coconut oil for? Is he conditioning his hair with it? Making a smoothie? I love learning these details about his preferences in real life, and not from diving way too deep in an online forum at two in the morning—not that I would ever do that. I am so invested in this coconut oil mystery, that I forget to maintain my standard calm, cool facialexpression. I realize I’m grinning like an idiot when Mercer’s cackle echoes down the long, tiled foyer.
“Team Micah means you’re on Team Dr. Bronner’s Coconut Oil now. Better stock up, you weirdo.”
“Shh!” I hiss.
I’ve never been comfortable with my friends and family knowing I’m on Team Micah. The last thing I want in this world is for Micah Watson to know I’m on Team Micah. He needs to think I’m a mature, fascinating, intellectually-rounded woman. He doesn’t need to know the truth.
“Oh, relax. Frankie is probably waking him up to the sound of gentle rain and the smell of freshly brewed espresso as we speak. There’s no way he heard me.”
What a life Frankie has. Maybe I could talk her into trading jobs for a day or two? My shoulders tense at the thought of entrusting Imogen to anyone else, though. The tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me that Imogen has made it this far without me, and that after this film shoot she’s not my responsibility. Now my whole upper body is tense. I am worried about too many things that are outside of my control at the moment—Nizhóní, Imogen, and whether Mercer has been kicking her boots onto the desk around our guests all week.
“You need a massage. You should book one.” Mercer leans back in her chair. “You look like you’re losing it.”
“I’m just tired,” I say through a yawn.
“You know we’ve got this. You have to trust us. Pretend you’re on vacation.”
When have I ever taken a vacation? I work at an actual resort, which I love. I don’t need a vacation. Until my obnoxious best friend distracted me with thoughts of Micah Watson, there were a few things that I legitimately needed to check on, though.
