Page 4 of Never Date a Celebrity

“With zero experience.”

“Experience is learnable.”

Imogen turned to Niamh. “And you said yes already? How has she talked you into this?”

“She hasn’t,” Niamh said. She bit down on her bottom lip. “It was my idea.”

That stopped Imogen in her tracks. “What?”

Niamh smiled. “Hear me out. Remember I went away last week because I needed to switch off? Well, I ended up in a village on the coast called Ballyluck.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Neither had I. But I loved it.”

Piper took out her phone. “Look.” She thrust it forward.

Imogen took it reluctantly. The first photos showed a tiny village painted in soft pastel colours, clustered around a circular square. Purples, greens, yellows, pinks, blues, peaches.

There was a small main street with maybe eight or nine buildings on either side, a mixture of well-kept homes and businesses. The next few photos revealed the scenic backdrop of Ballyluck. Cliffs. Sea. Rolling green hills stretching for miles. Imogen could admit, it was annoyingly beautiful.

“Isn’t it great? Keep looking. The pub’s called the Wishing Well,” Piper said reverently. “And it has an actual well. A well, Immy.”

“Well, that changes everything,” Imogen deadpanned.

Piper swatted her arm.

Imogen grinned and swiped some more until she found the pub. Sure enough, it had an old stone well outside its door. It was a quirky feature, probably dating back many years judging by how worn and weathered it looked. Imogen wondered if people threw coins into the well hoping that it held some kind of magical power to make their wishes come true. Whoever had named the pub the Wishing Well had probably thought so.

“The place needs saving,” Niamh said. “The owners are selling. I got chatting with some folks. The village doesn’t want to lose their pub. It’s an institution. I saw it and…something clicked.”

Imogen flicked to the next images. The pub was a dunderin-inn for sure. Worn wood, cracked windows, tired furniture. A faded, tattered, old sign outside. “It also needs bleach,” she said. She refrained from stating that what it really needed was knocked down and rebuilt. It looked like the place hadn’t seen so much as a lick of paint in at least thirty years. There was retro and then there was outdated, and this was the latter. Every part of the place was crying out for an upgrade, from the dirty floors to the shabby fittings.

“It needs vision,” Piper countered.

“It needs money.”

“It needs us,” Niamh said quietly.

Imogen looked up. There it was—that dangerous thing in her friend’s face. Hope. But seriously, did Niamh really think that Imogen was going to join in on this wacky notion of hers? Forget it. She wasn’t Piper.

“I’m in a rut here. I want a different life,” Niamh said. “And I want it with my best friends.”

Piper nodded eagerly. “I hate my job, my creepy roommate watches me sleep, and I was born for village-pub glamour.” She flicked her hair to prove her point.

“You were born for dramatics,” Imogen said—though the roommate thing was probably true. He was a touch on the creepy side, and he did tend to stare. Although, in fairness, a lot of people stared at Piper. She was just one of those people who garnered attention. Blond and beautiful.

“That too.”

Imogen handed back the phone. “It looks lovely. I’ll visit often.”

Both of them groaned in unison.

“Speaking of,” Imogen continued. “Where will you live?”

“There are two apartments above the pub, and they are included in the contract. A one bedroom and a two bedroom,” Niamh explained. “If you join us, we could work it out. Two of us share, one of us take the other one.”

Imogen glared at her. “You know I’ve never wanted a roommate, as much as I love you both.” She very much valued her space, her privacy. Especially now. Her friends knew that about her.