Page 18 of Never Date a Celebrity

Amy smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you off. But I’m really looking forward to it.”

Imogen tilted her head. “Can you scare friends off?”

Amy chuckled. “You just never know. See you Saturday, Imogen.” With that she turned and strode toward the door. She called back over her shoulder, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about my earlier question. I still want to find out about how rigid you are about that non-existent love life of yours.”

“Why’s that?” Imogen shot back.

“Let’s call it curiosity. For now.” With a final wave, Amy disappeared out the door, leaving Imogen staring after her long after she’d gone.

What on earth just happened?

“Bridget Clemonte touched my shoulder!” Piper bounded toward the bar tapping on the shoulder she was referencing. “Right here. Her flawless, manicured, famous as hell hand touched this very spot as she smiled and told me how good it was to meet me, Immy. Bridget fucking Clemonte.”

“Is that her full title?”

“It bloody well should be.” Piper pushed through the wooden swing door that led behind the bar and leaned against the counter beside her. “I’m going to wear this top every day. It’s never getting washed.”

“A tad unhygienic, but okay.”

Niamh chuckled as she rounded the bar at a much more normal pace to join them. “She was amazing to be fair. I’ve read stories that she’s one of those demanding, fit-throwing, diva-type actresses, but she seemed really nice.”

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read. Or see online.” Imogen would know. “Was it everything you both dreamed of then?”

“And more,” Piper said wistfully. “It was amazing.” She held up her phone. “Do you want to see the photos?”

“Of course I do,” Imogen said, knowing full well that Piper would be dying to show her. She wasn’t a total killjoy. If her friends were excited about something, then she was excited for them. And that meant that Imogen would happily sit through the two hundred snaps that Piper had undoubtedly taken.

“Yay. Strap yourself in, because there’s a few,” Piper said, grabbing onto Imogen’s arm to drag her in closer.

Sometimes Imogen envied Piper’s enthusiasm for just about everything in life. Piper was one of those perpetually happy humans who found the good in everything. Fun was her first language—sass was probably her second. Could positivity be contagious? Because maybe Imogen needed to channel some of that positive energy and stop worrying so much all the time. She had made a real habit out of that lately, the worrying. Especially about things that had the potential to be great, even if they pushed her way out of her comfort zone. Just look at the Wishing Well. Imogen had been adamantly against it, yet now the thought of being stuck in Belfast still slogging away at Clover was inconceivable. Could opening herself up to dating again be the next plunge?

Her estimation of two hundred photos had been pretty accurate. Piper showed her the sets, the costumes, the props, and a barrage of actors who, according to Piper, were a mixture of the main cast and extras. There were even some shots of the car park which would be strange to most people, but unsurprising from Piper. She appreciated all the things.

After she reached the end of her snaps, Piper flicked back to the selfie she had taken of her and Bridget Clemonte. “I think this might be my favourite photo I’ve ever taken.” She studied it then flicked on to the next picture. “Though do you think her smile is bigger on this photo I took of her and Niamh?”

“Maybe a little. But she didn’t touch my shoulder,” Niamh replied easily.

Piper’s smile returned. “True.”

Niamh grinned at Imogen. “How did everything go here? Any issues?”

Imogen wondered if her cheeks went noticeably red because she felt them start to warm up. “No issues. Same old same old really.”

“Were ye telling the girls here about that lovely wee lass that came in earlier on?” Willy, more commonly referred to by the three of them as One Pint Willy, asked, choosing the most inopportune time to deliver his empty glass to the counter.

Imogen managed to refrain from glaring at him, customer service being so important and all. “There were a few women in here today,” she said casually. No idea who you’re talking about. Nope, not a clue.

He let out a loud laugh. Just one. Like a foghorn. “I hardly mean those three oul dears who spent half the day fawning over yer man off that feckin’ baking show. Or Sally from the fruit shop.” Otherwise known as the WGC (Wednesday Gossip Club), and Songbird Sally—unoriginally named after the time she performed a questionable rendition of “Dancing Queen” after sharing a bottle of white wine with Post Office Pat. That had been an eventful workday—nothing like that would ever have happened at Clover.

“Oooo,” Piper cooed. “A mystery woman. Did this woman take your fancy, Willy? Did she tickle your pickle? Rock your socks?” Unsurprisingly, Piper had a great rapport with the customers, which enabled her to get away with a certain degree of teasing. Imogen suspected most of them not just tolerated it but enjoyed it.

“Give over, you. She was a pretty lass, aye, but a wee bit young for me. Yer mate here seemed to have some interest though. And it looked mutual if ye ask me.”

“What?” Piper’s head shot round to look at her. “You had mutual interest with a mystery woman? You tell us everything right this very second, Imogen King.”

Imogen folded her arms. “Thanks for that, Willy,” she deadpanned as he turned to leave.

He chuckled and waved back at her over his shoulder. “Welcome. See you girls tomorrow.”