Page 32 of Never Date a Celebrity

“Hmm. I feel like we can all hold our own in the kitchen, but making food to serve to the public is a whole different ball game,” Piper said.

Imogen tossed the tea towel that she had been using to shine glasses onto the bar. “I don’t mean cooking as such. I’m talking about sharing platters with different breads and cheeses. Olives. Chutneys. Charcuterie boards. That kind of thing. Basically, just arranging food into pretty displays on trays.”

“Like those wooden ones that come in funky shapes?” Piper asked.

“Yes. Exactly like those,” Imogen replied. “Honestly, something so simple could feel like luxury here in Ballyluck.”

Niamh was pursing her lips, which meant she was giving it serious consideration—Imogen knew that look well. And Piper had begun looking dreamily around, which meant that she was trying to picture the plan in action. Piper had always been a visual thinker.

“We could talk to Sally about getting some fresh fruit and jams. And Connor from the Local Shop might be able to help us out with supplies too,” Imogen added with a wince. She couldn’t help it. The fact that the main shop in the village had been so unimaginatively named had bugged Imogen ever since they had moved to Ballyluck. Connor himself was a good fella. But the Local Shop? Really? Talk about literal.

Piper and Niamh turned to each other looking thoughtful.

“You know what? I don’t hate it one bit,” Piper said with a growing smile.

Niamh nodded. “Me either. I actually really like it. We could use the big chalkboard to advertise it outside. You know I’ve been dying to use the chalkboard.” She paused. “I just hope we aren’t biting off more than we can chew. Excuse the pun.”

“We can plan it carefully,” Imogen reassured her. “Keep it simple so we can prepare the platters quickly when they’re ordered.”

“And how about from a financial perspective?” Niamh asked.

“We’ll choose items that won’t perish too quickly and limit orders so there isn’t a lot of waste. We want this to make us money rather than cost us more. That means we start small. See how it goes and maybe expand the selection down the line.”

“So, just the platters?” Piper asked.

“Just the platters,” Imogen said. “Maybe two or three different options, but variations of a theme. One with just breads and cheeses. Another with cold meats included too. Then like a jumbo platter with all the different stuff—a little more decadent.”

Niamh nodded slowly. “I agree. Keep it limited. Better to do those two or three things really well than overcomplicate it and be left with a ton of food we can’t sell.”

“Exactly.”

Piper beamed. “This was a great idea, Immy.”

Imogen lifted a shoulder. “Well, it was Amy’s idea really.”

“Well, text her and tell her she’s a genius,” Piper said. “You know women love hearing when they’re right.”

“Plus, it’s a good excuse to contact her again,” Niamh added.

“You’re right. She’ll be happy to hear you guys liked the idea.” They both stared at Imogen as she pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She froze. “You don’t have to watch me doing it.”

Piper quickly scrambled to grab the towel that Imogen had thrown down earlier, and Niamh began her usual ritual of fiddling with the bottles. Imogen huffed out a laugh at the pair of them. She looked down at her phone and opened her short message thread with Amy and composed a text. As soon as she pressed send, there was a flutter in her tummy.

Imogen had it so bad already.

Niamh and Piper loved your idea about the platters. They are pretty sure that you’re a business mastermind now and are singing your praises—as am I. I hope your day is going well.

Amelia smiled down at her phone. There was something nice about Imogen discussing her with her friends. Like she was worth talking about despite the newness of…whatever it was they were doing. It was too early to put a label on it, though Amelia feared she was already hooked.

Imogen had sent the message two hours ago, but filming had been nuts, so Amelia was only getting round to reading it. Damn retakes.

She immediately started to type her reply, despite her cold, stiffened fingers, when her phone rang out in her hand. Oh man, what did Helen want now? She swiped to answer. “Hey, Helen.” Amelia forced herself to sound upbeat when in reality she was tired, cold, hungry, and wanted nothing more than to disappear into her trailer and get lost in a text conversation with Imogen before she had to return to set in an hour. Maybe hear Imogen’s voice if she wasn’t too busy with the bar—though the unselfish part of Amelia did hope that Imogen was busy, because the bar was important to her.

“Hello there, superstar,” Helen cooed down the line.

Amelia steered herself away from the hectic set. There had been around fifty cast and crew milling around, though many of them had already begun to disperse and scramble toward the main building for heat. She didn’t blame them. Her own breath was coming out in white clouds of air, and she had to tighten her coat around herself to try to keep warm.

She found an old brick wall a little bit out of the way and pushed herself up to sit on it. “That’s it? Usually, you tell me that I’m your favourite superstar, or some other variety of favourite.”