Page 20 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
“Get up here, kid,” I growl playfully, launching her over my shoulder and spinning her in a circle that makes her screech. “How was your day?”
“Good. I did school and Sunny took me to a park made all of rocks,” she says into my back. “And we read books and had Rollerburger again.”
I swing her back to my eye level. “Rollerburger again? What’s a Rollerburger? Sounds awesome.” My gaze moves from Immy to Sunny, who is aggressively shoving the vacuum into the tiny coat closet.
She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. “It’s this hamburger place—”
Her explanation is cut off by Immy, who can’t seem to contain herself. “She’s on roller skates.” Her blue eyes are wide and blinking. This is serious business.
“Who’s on roller skates?”
“Goldie. At Rollerburger. She’s on roller skates and they have the very best nuggets I’ve ever had.” This is the most critically important information she has ever shared in her five years of life.
I look at Sunny, who is sheepish. “Goldie is my sister. She’s a carhop at this hamburger place in town. I hope it’s okay, we stopped today after we went to the park. I promise I’m being safe with her…” She trails off, like she’s waiting for me to jump in and save her with my approval.
I don’t approve. “You had hamburgers?” I look Immy squarely in the eyes. “Without me?”
“Yeah, except I got nuggets and they weresogood.” My daughter can’t wait to rub it in when she has fun without me.
It sounds like these two have started a whole, wholesome life together where they have fun outings and I want to be a part of it. I hate missing out. “Sounds like I need to try out Rollerburger, and I’m starving. Want to go?” Snack forgotten. Diet forgotten. My dad bod is tomorrow’s problem.
Before Sunny can protest, Immy shouts, “Yay!” and wiggles out of my arms to run for her shoes.
As soon as she’s gone, Sunny’s hands are on her hips. “She was in bed.”
“We have to get her off of the European schedule at some point, right?” I inch toward her.
“I guess so,” she steps back. “I suppose I’ll go then. See you tomorrow?”
“What? You have to come!” Immy races back into the room wearing her nightgown and the sparkly jelly sandals she’s so attached to. They kind of make her feet stink, but she chooses them every time. “My dad doesn’t know how to get to Rollerburger.”
Sunny makes a face at me that says I need to let her off the hook. She doesn’t want to be the bad guy. She has no idea who she’s dealing with.
“Yeah, you have to come,” I say. “We’ll get lost.” I give her my patented puppy dog eyes. She shoots me a look that says she knows I’m full of it, but her cheeks are also a little pink.
A minute later we’re in the parking area and I’m looking for whatever SUV Oliver rented for Sunny to drive Immy around in. The girls stop at the most nondescript sedan ever manufactured. It’s a white, base model Toyota Camry, obviously a few years old, withzero bells and whistles except for the slightly tinted windows. They’re the most eye-catching feature on this granny-mobile.
“Oh yeah. Oliver made a good call with this rental. We’ll blend right in with this thing.” I nod my approval while Sunny unlocks the doors. “This car is so boring no one will suspect Imogen and I are in here.”
“This is my car,” Sunny deadpans.
Immy giggles, “Dad.”
“I’ll have you know that this is one of the safest cars on the road, and you’re right,” Sunny says as she drops into the driver’s seat, “No one has spotted Imogen yet. So, you’re welcome.”
I pull my baseball cap lower onto my head and throw on my sunglasses. “That has to be some kind of record. And thanks for taking good care of my kid.”
My knees are almost around my ears in this tin can. How does Sunny drive this thing? She’s pretty tall herself. I’m six-foot-three and she’s only five or six inches shorter than me. I eye her in the driver’s seat, purely for research purposes. Her long, tan legs are tucked under the steering wheel, and the short, flowery dress she’s wearing is draped across her seat. My gaze moves up to her bare arms, then at her big, brown eyes which are looking at me. She arches an eyebrow.
“What?” I scan her figure again. More research. “Just making sure you’re buckled up. Safety first.”
“Areyoubuckled up?” she asks with a withering glance. She is batting my attempts at flirtation away like flies at a picnic.
“You should put your seatbelt on, Dad,” Immy instructs from her booster seat.
I buckle up with an eyeroll that I hope Immy can’t see. What am I doing? Like I need another woman in my life telling me to put on my seatbelt. I already have a tiny one.
“Nice.” I nod toward the figurine behind Sunny’s steering wheel. The only hint at personality in this car is a tiny toy version of MicahWatson’s character from our first movie that’s perched in front of her tachometer.
