Chapter Three
Oh no. Had that sounded bad? Imogen hadn’t meant to come off so defensive.
She knew that her hatred of the showbiz world could be irrational at times—jaded by her ex-girlfriend’s obsession with attention and fame.
Of course, Chelsea had chased it hard enough and made something of a name for herself, albeit mainly on social media.
Unfortunately, thanks to Chelsea, Imogen had received her five minutes of fame too, unwantedly so.
The result? Imogen never wanted to be on the receiving end of a camera ever again.
So, unlike those who sought fame, Imogen made a point of avoiding it like the plague.
When Amy had mentioned the film, a sense of dread had bubbled up inside Imogen and she hadn’t been able to tamp it back down.
But she probably shouldn’t have slagged off Amy’s workplace. Not her finest moment.
“You don’t like celebrities at all?” Amy asked a few seconds later. Imogen couldn’t tell whether she was offended or not, but she had gone quiet for a noticeable amount of time and her smile had faded somewhat, so she guessed that she might be. Shit.
Imogen needed to choose her words more carefully.
She hadn’t meant to come right out and slate the industry Amy worked in.
Imogen wasn’t a mean person, or the kind of person who insulted others.
She certainly didn’t need to take her past trauma out on Amy.
But the scars hadn’t fully healed, and Imogen could feel herself going into self-protection mode whether she wanted to or not.
“I have no personal vendettas or anything. I just don’t love the shallowness of it all,” she admitted.
Because there was no going back now. “Though I’m sure only a minority are like that,” she added to try and soften her opinionated blow.
In truth, there were probably tons of lovely people who worked in the film industry.
Hell, Imogen was clearly talking to one of them right now.
Amy was…a really nice surprise. She had grabbed Imogen’s attention and held it ever since the moment Imogen had spotted her walking toward the bar with her long, blond hair and fancy sunglasses.
She was funny, witty, and interesting and Imogen liked talking to her.
She also liked looking at Amy too, because Jesus.
She didn’t see a woman like that in Ballyluck every day.
In fact, Imogen couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman that looked that good before. Not in real life.
“I’ve met one or two prima donnas. I’ll not name names.” Amy quirked a brow. “But I’ve worked with a lot of great people too. Movies are so much more than just show business. They can be an art form in the right hands.”
Imogen held her hands up, palms forward. “I’m sure you’re right. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. It’s a complicated hang-up of mine, ignore me.”
Amy gave a little shrug. “I guess I can let you off this time.”
“And I appreciate it.” Imogen’s fraught feeling was probably an overreaction.
It wasn’t like Amy was surrounded by chaperones.
She didn’t have a gaggle of photographers following her around or anything like that.
She was alone in Imogen’s pub in the middle of a Wednesday.
Maybe she wrote scripts or something. Organised props. Something low-key.
There was only one way to find out. “What is it that you do on the film?” Imogen asked with a smile. She was aiming for interested rather than interrogatory.
Amy took a sip of her drink and set it back down. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”
Imogen probably deserved that non-answer after her initial reaction. It was time for some damage control. “Of course I want to hear about it, that’s why I asked. Tell me about it. What’s your role? Writer? Cameraperson? Director?”
Amy snorted a laugh. “I’m not the director.
And I’m not much of a writer nor am I any good with a camera—there’s far too many buttons and I haven’t got a clue what half of them do.
” She sat up straighter on her stool. “Basically, it’s my job to make the movie look good.
To make sure the story comes to life in the best way.
And to turn it into something that’s sellable.
But I don’t want to bore you about work.
” She rested her chin on her hand. “Not when I’d rather hear about you. ”
Make the movie look good. Which meant that Amy probably had something to do with the set, or special effects maybe? An editor? That wasn’t so bad. Imogen breathed a small sigh of relief. “What about me? There’s not much to know.”
“I bet there’s a ton. Examples. How long have you been a pub landlady—isn’t that what you call it? Did you grow up around here? What’s your favourite colour? How do you spend your free time? Are you single? All of that sounds so much more interesting to me than talking about my job.”
“I’m not that interesting.”
Amy held her gaze. “I disagree. You’re the most interesting person I’ve met in some time.”
Hello? What was that weird little flutter her heart did? “I think you might be the only person bar my mother to think so. But thank you.”
“Well, your mother is clearly a wise woman. And you haven’t answered my questions yet.”
Imogen smiled and went back over them in her head.
“Let’s see. I’ve been a pub landlady for just over four months which means I still feel like a rookie, a fraud, and completely out of my depth—you may have already gathered that from earlier.
I did not grow up around here, I was born and bred in Belfast. Which makes me a Ballyluck blow in.
And you’d think that I see too much of it around here, but green.
I love the colour green.” She left out that she thought that the colour of Amy’s eyes might be her favourite shade yet.
Almost emerald with a few darker flecks.
“And free time isn’t easy to come by right now.
But I love being outdoors, especially around here.
Exploring, walking, hiking. That sort of thing. ”
“See, that’s all fascinating to me.” Amy ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “But you missed out my last question.”
Imogen feigned ignorance. “I did? I don’t think I caught that one.”
Amy narrowed her glorious green eyes, and Imogen was sure she felt her whole body melt at her smoulder. “Or you want to make me ask you again.”
“Me?” Imogen clutched a hand to her chest. “Do I seem like someone who would do a thing like that?”
“Yes, that’s the impression I’m getting,” Amy said straight away, and Imogen chuckled. “But you made me this awesome drink, so I’ll oblige. So once again, single or not single? And in my opinion, there is no in between.”
Imogen shared that opinion too. “I would have to put myself into the very very single category.”
“Very very single, huh? What does that entail?”
“It entails not being in a relationship. Not dating. Not looking. Being very stuck in my ways. And generally avoiding anything that might disrupt my peace.”
“Wow. Okay. That is very very single. I agree with your assessment.” Amy tilted her head. “The not looking. Is that because you aren’t interested in relationships at all, or…”
“Ask me an easier question,” Imogen replied. She hadn’t even thought about dating again since Chelsea. Somewhere along the way, she’d just gotten comfortable being by herself.
“Fine, but I’ll want to come back to it later.
I’ve been told I’m like a dog with a bone when I want to know something.
” Amy tapped her fingertips on the counter.
“Okay. If you were to date—hypothetically—would that be with a woman or a man, or do you have no preference? And don’t make me ask this one twice because that’s a great big question to throw out there and I’m exceedingly brave for doing so once already. ”
“I won’t make you repeat it, but I meant an easier question like in a whole different category.”
Amy grinned and shrugged. “You didn’t specify that.”
Imogen couldn’t help but smile as she shook her head. “You’re good. Okay, if I was going to go on this hypothetical date that you’ve mentioned then it would have to be with a woman.”
Amy gave her a satisfied smile like she had answered correctly. “An excellent choice. So, what made you leave Belfast?”
Imogen blinked. “I think I’m getting whiplash from how quickly we’re jumping between subjects here.”
“What?” Amy said innocently. “You told me that you wanted to change topic. And I want to know more about you. I have lots of questions on a whole range of topics. These are only my warm-ups.”
“I suppose I did.” It baffled Imogen that this captivating woman wanted to know anything about her at all, but she was happy to play along.
She hadn’t enjoyed a conversation with a woman in, well, years.
She had forgotten how good it felt when you clicked with someone.
Imogen wanted to know more about Amy too, though she refused to examine why because she would only end up freaking herself out and finding a way to ruin it.
It was better to stay in the moment and just enjoy chatting to Amy—for whatever it was.
“Well, my friends are the reason I left. Piper and Niamh.” Imogen swept her hand across the room.
“They wanted to move here and take on this place. At first, I thought the idea was insane, but I’m so happy we did it.
The bar’s a work in progress for sure, but it’s our work in progress. ”
“Isn’t everything in life really just a work in progress?”
“I guess so.” Imogen grinned. “That’s very deep for a Wednesday afternoon.”
Amy laughed. “I have my moments.” She turned and looked around the room. “I think it’s a great place.”
“If only more people agreed. I’m sure you can tell that we aren’t the most popular spot around.”