Page 82 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
I didn’t tell Mercer where I was going when we crossed paths this morning. I haven’t talked to Anders. He sent a text late lastnight—a quick check-in. I sent a quick reply. Yesterday was insanely busy for both of us. The meeting with the representative from our insurance company was positive. The fire is covered, we just have a few months of repair work ahead of us. Joe and I made a game plan for that. Everything will be okay, just like he and Anders said.
I just wish I could shake this restlessness. Maybe exercise will help. I finish my warm-up with one last peek at the resort entrance. I feel silly waiting for Micah out here, so I turn to start my run. I’m barely a quarter mile down the path when I spot a pair of scandalously small running shorts headed toward me. From the looks of it, Micah is just finishing his workout. He must have forgotten his offer.
He smiles when he sees me. “Hi. You made it.”
“Yeah, but it looks like you’re almost done?” I hope that didn’t sound as pathetic as I feel.
“Just wanted to make sure I got my miles in. I didn’t know if you could handle my distance.” He pushes something on his watch screen. “Ready?”
Nice.
“Don’t worry about it. You can get started on your day. Thanks for the offer, though.” Fourteen-year-old Sunny would slap my face, but the words come out of my mouth nevertheless. I even offer a goofy little salute to drive home that I am mentally unwell.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve wanted a chance to talk to you, anyway.” He turns like he’s really going to run with me immediately after finishing his run. Whatever. If the handsome, wealthy, megastar wants to give me pointers and have a chat, who am I to say no? It’ll make a good story to tell at parties, if nothing else.
We run in silence for a few minutes and I can’t help but notice that Micah isn’t winded. His lack of heavy breathing is distracting to the point that I can’t seem to get my own breathing under control.I’m tired today. My lungs are tight and my legs are heavy. I’m trudging down the trail, feeling self-conscious about my pace and labored breathing—even more so when Micah drops back to watch me run.
“You should be wearing better shoes for your gait. You pronate, and it looks like you have a wide foot.”Trot, trot, trot. “Wearing the wrong shoes can lead to injury.”
Well, at least my shorts are visible without a microscope.
I know he’s right, though. I continue to run in silence. Micah offers occasional input on my form and breathing. I try the minor changes he suggests and don’t notice any huge improvement right away, but that’s no surprise.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Anders,” he says with plenty of air in his lungs. So annoying.
“What about?” I eke out between breaths.
“I would appreciate it if you’d give him some space for the duration of the shoot.”
That stops me in my tracks. “Excuse me?”
“We can’t afford for Anders to chase you like a dog in heat. The man has no self-control aroundfemales.”
Says the man who’s had his eyes on various parts of my body for the stationary portion of this conversation. And the way he says the word “females” makes my nostrils flare. I look at Micah Watson—really look at him. He is nothing like I thought. I’m so relieved I never got what my little fourteen-year-old heart prayed for.
A familiar pink Jeep passes us. I spot Anders’ tan profile. Immy is in the back seat, her unrestrained blonde curls blowing around her. That’s going to be a nightmare to brush out later. I should be grateful that the new nanny gets that job. Instead, I’m just bummed out. My feet feel even heavier in my shoes.
Suddenly the Jeep makes a u-turn and stops a dozen feet in front of us on the road. My heart is pumping hard now. Those are my people in that Jeep.
“Sunny!” Imogen calls. “Come here!”
“Ugh,” Micah groans beside me. He mutters something that I can’t make out, but his tone isn’t kind.
“Micah?” I make the word sweet even though I want to stomp on his running shoe and leave.
“What?”
“I’ve seen all of your movies.” I hate to give him this information. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.
His face says he’s expecting me to ask him for an autograph and he’s put out by the possibility. “Thank you, and?”
“Anders is a much better actor than you. I think he’ll be just fine.”
I don’t elaborate or wait for a response. I jog over to the rumbly pink Jeep and the man and child I’ve missed so much these past—how long has it been? Two nights? It has felt so much longer. I think I might be addicted to them.
“Hi, guys!” I smile at Imogen first, then my eyes find Anders.
His expression is grim and he’s staring hard at Micah. His gaze flits my direction, tripping at my bare legs, before finally landing on my face. I arch an eyebrow at him, even though I like having this man’s eyes on me.
