Page 39 of Never Date a Celebrity

Bridget started to grin.

“What?” Amelia asked.

“You just got more interesting, that’s all. I was thinking you were incredibly boring all this time.”

“Thanks,” Amelia said on a laugh. It was a very Bridget-like compliment.

“Well, you’re like a closed book. You never share anything. I open up to you all the time and I might as well talk to that wall over there.”

Amelia’s head spun. When the hell did Bridget open up to her? When she complained about every little thing? When she criticized Amelia’s abilities and credentials? When she scrutinised her every move? Jeez, to Bridget maybe that was opening up. Huh. “You know about Imogen,” Amelia said.

“I overheard about Imogen,” Bridget corrected her.

A strange silence floated between them. Amelia felt like they were in some weird twilight zone, and she had no idea how to act there. Like she had let Bridget down somehow, which was bizarre.

“I’m seeing her tonight,” Amelia eventually blurted. Because apparently, Bridget wanted her to share. Of course, Bridget was probably fishing for ammunition to use against her, but Amelia had to admit that part of her had looked genuinely offended. “I’m planning on telling her who I am then, so she’ll probably run a mile,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh.

“She probably will if she hates celebrities like you say. Probably for the best. This life isn’t for the weak.” Bridget flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Hopefully you’ll be able to focus more now that you’ve got that out. See, isn’t sharing great? I should be a therapist.” She flashed Amelia a cocksure smile and strutted back over to her cue on the set, where the crew was beginning to reconvene.

That was it? Amelia felt like screaming. She’d fallen straight into that trap and shown Bridget her weakness. For a minute, she had thought Bridget genuinely gave a damn about something other than herself, but Amelia was a fool. Touché, Bridget. You got me.

With a huff, she looked down at her phone and instantly felt better because there was a message from Imogen waiting. They’d been in touch all week, mostly via text. Talking about their days—to an extent. Discussing what was happening in the world, both good and bad—a great way to discover if they were on the same page about things, which, so far, they were. Imogen updated her on all things Wishing Well—and Amelia was delighted that things were looking up. And they found out snippets of information about one another through their conversations too. Nothing too personal—just things. For instance, Imogen loved to swim, but she preferred the ocean over the pool, despite the cold. She made spaghetti Bolognese every Monday night for her and her friends—they took turns cooking. They used to have dinner together a lot, though with the bar, now they usually ate late and in shifts. Imogen started her day with a coffee and finished it with a tea. She was a creature of habit, that’s for sure. Amelia liked that about her. Imogen knew what she liked and stuck to it. Amelia had to hope that Imogen liked her enough to stick too.

She couldn’t worry about that now. She shot off a quick text telling Imogen that she was excited about seeing her later, then marched back over to her cue. If Bridget thought she needed to focus more, Amelia was going to show her just how damn good she was.

Chapter Eight

“You didn’t tell me that you live in the bar,” Amy said as Imogen held the back door open for her.

Imogen laughed at the surprised look on her face. “I don’t live in the bar, I live above it. And we have to be quiet or there will be two busybodies out in this hallway within seconds.”

“Are you hiding me from your friends, Imogen?” Amy whispered good-naturedly.

“Not at all.” Joking aside, that was not Imogen’s intention. But she knew what Niamh and Piper were like, and she didn’t think it would be a good idea to subject Amy to their antics yet. Despite it only being their second date, Piper would probably demand a written statement of Amy’s intentions. In blood. And Niamh, well, she might be more subtle, but she wouldn’t be much better. Even so, whether Amy was being serious or not, Imogen didn’t want that thought to cross her mind. She hooked her thumb toward the door leading to the pub. “Do you want to meet them?” she said.

Thankfully, Amy took her hand and gently pulled her back in the direction of the stairs. “I do. But maybe next time. I’ll keep you to myself this evening.”

Imogen practically melted on the spot. Because it was nice that somebody wanted her all to themselves, wasn’t it? Especially when that person was as great as Amy. Besides, Imogen had planned a whole thing, so it was probably best if it was just the two of them. Piper and Niamh could unleash their mischief another time. “In that case, follow me.”

Imogen led the way up to her apartment that she’d spent three hours cleaning that morning, despite Niamh telling her countless times that it was already spotless. Maybe it was, but first impressions were everything, and Amy was the first person Imogen had wanted to impress in a long time. So what if the shower tiles got an extra scrub? Not that Amy was going to be taking a shower, at least Imogen doubted it. Granted, she hadn’t totally considered all the implications when she had invited Amy over to her place. Not until Piper had pointed them out. Mainly how there might be a certain expectation when inviting someone over for a second date rather than going out—the expectation being sex. Although Piper hadn’t put it quite so eloquently.

That hadn’t been Imogen’s intention with the invite. Not that she was totally against the idea or anything, because hello? It was Amy. Imogen was only human. But they were still new and firmly in the getting to know each other stage. A stage that Imogen intended to take the time to enjoy. She had forgotten about how nice all the different stages of dating could be, especially in the early days. So, sex had not been on her radar. Her only intention had been to see Amy again. And because Amy was only free in the evenings, the options of what they could do were more limited. It had seemed natural to propose either staying in or going out to a restaurant.

Amy had been the one who had chosen the night in. Did that mean that she had expectations? Imogen didn’t think so, but she was going to find out. And soon. God, dating involved so much guesswork. Had it always been that way? Imogen tried to tamp down the butterflies fluttering around her stomach as she put her key in the door and let them inside.

“Wow. This place is super cosy,” Amy said with a smile as she walked through the tiny hallway into the living room.

Imogen looked around, trying to see the place through Amy’s eyes. She had to admit, it did look snug. The two lamps at opposite corners of the room were dimly glowing. She had lit a handful of candles around the room which were softly flickering against the shadows. And the knitted throw blanket that she had draped over the sofa was a nice touch, if she said so herself. “I haven’t been living here long, but I’ve tried to make it as homey as possible.”

Amy turned from the pine bookcase she’d wandered over to study. “You’ve succeeded. It feels very you in here. And it gives me some more clues about the things that I don’t know yet.”

Imogen tilted her head. “How so?”

“Well.” Amy delicately ran her fingertips along the spines of the books. “These books have all been read. Which tells me that you still like to hold a physical book in your hands rather than an e-reader. I get the vibe that you’re old school.” She threw Imogen a hopeful look. “Tell me I’m right.”

Imogen leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded. “You’re half right.”

Amy punched her fist through the air. “Dammit.”