“Later,” Sunny whispers, sending a pleasant shot of dopamine through my brain. “You can text me later.”
And I will. I have plenty to say.
The next afternoon, I’m sitting in my trailer waiting for my call time when I see the girls outside my window. Even though they’re a few buildings away, it’s easy to spot Immy’s blonde hair and Sunny’s… Sunny-ness, walking hand in hand down the sandstone path. This morning I caught them rumbling away in my Jeep, their ponytails blowing in the wind. I hated to see them driving off without me, probably on their way to Rollerburger or some other fun activity without me. Did I mention that they are having fun without me?
Well, not again. I rush out of my trailer before they're too far away.
“Sunny!” I call, jogging toward them. “Im!”
Their heads whip around and Immy darts in my direction. “Dad!”
When she reaches me, I hoist her into my arms. “What are you doing, kid?”
“We’re going to the pool. Sunny said since it’s so warm we can go swimming. And look!” She waves her arm in my face, showing off the special waterproof splint Oliver tracked down.
“Cool, kiddo.”
Sunny catches up to us and I try really hard not to notice she’s dressed in a flowy white thing that allows the tiniest glimpse of a black swimsuit. I quickly redirect my eyes. “I wish I could join you.”
“Why not?” my daughter pouts.
“I’m working.” — I gesture to my torn, bloody costume and the artificial bruising and scratches on my face — “But we’re working here today, so maybe I’ll see you do your tricks from where we’re shooting.”
Sunny pulls back her sunglasses, propping them on her hair. “Where are you filming?”
“Just outside the spa building. The back exit.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s right by the pool. I wonder if it’s closed?” Her eyebrows pull together.
I shrug. Since it’s just us on the property I haven't seen anyone using the pool, but I don’t know whether it’s officially closed down. “I’m sure if it’s locked you know someone who will let you in,” I say with a wink.
She nods her head to the side in agreement, pulling her white dress thing closer together in the front and hitching her huge bag higher up on her shoulder. “We better let you get back to work, right Im?”
“I guess. Okay. Bye, Dad. We have to go.” And just like that she’s wiggling out of my arms, more than ready to ditch me for more exciting prospects. That’s life with a five-year-old.
“Well…” Sunny hesitates while Immy latches onto her hand, pulling her in the direction of the pool. “See you later?”
“Yep. Have fun. Don’t miss me too much, Sunflower.”
I was joking, but apparently the girls don’t miss me at all because I catch glimpses of both of them throughout the afternoon. Imogen’s past nannies would sit in one of the lounge chairs surrounding the pool while begrudgingly watching my daughter do her tricks. I’ve heard plenty of loud complaints about that from her, but I get it—sometimes I want to relax poolside without having to rate dives or play Marco Polo. But Sunny is in the water, tossing Immy into the deep end, doing cannonballs, and making a general commotion with Imogen. My eyes wander in the direction of their splashing and laughing between every take, until the last time.
We’re mid-take. My character is being interrogated by Micah’s character about something shady he did in the previous scene. My eyes dart to the pool area, then widen when I spot Sunny standing on the diving board. Obviously, she’s only wearing her swimsuit, and somehow it’s exactly what I pictured for her—black, practical, and full coverage. But it does nothing to hide her generous curves. The mental image of Sunny standing there showing Immy how to dive, all long, tan legs and soft lines, is going to destroy me.
“Cut.” Christopher’s annoyed voice slices through my not-safe-for-work thoughts. Thank goodness. Except I think I’m about to get my butt handed to me by our director.
“Someone shut that down.” He motions to the sounds coming from the pool. “The noise is ruining the shot.”
Three guys jump up at once and trip over each other to get to Sunny first.
“I’ll do it,” one of the director’s assistants says.
“No, it’s fine, I’ll go.”
“Be right back,” comes from some random guy at the craft table.
Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been distracted by the nanny all afternoon. Well, I don’t like this at all.
“Sorry, everyone. I’ve got this. She’s my kid.”
