Chapter Six
That Sunday, Imogen felt like she was floating on the highest of highs as she walked through the bar with its log fire blazing and its upbeat music pumping.
It felt like she hadn’t stopped smiling from the moment she and Amy had parted ways the day before.
Parted ways after the best kissing session of her life at the top of Lucks Bruach, holding hands and laughing the whole way back down the trail, and stopping for some more incredible kissing at the bottom.
Then Amy was regretfully driven away in the back of a Mercedes that looked way too fancy for the uneven dirt tracks that served as roads around Ballyluck.
Imogen guessed that it was probably one of the same cars that the studio let the big stars use too, judging by its high-calibre design and entirely blacked-out windows.
They had agreed to see each other again as soon as Amy could get some more time off work.
She wasn’t sure when that would be, but thankfully they had exchanged numbers this time and Amy promised to be in touch.
What Imogen hadn’t expected, was for Amy to be in touch before she had even made it back to the Wishing Well.
Imogen had just been approaching the circle—inaccurately referred to as the square by the folks in Ballyluck—when Amy called her.
That’s right, called. She didn’t shoot off a twenty-second text message, which let’s face it, was the most common form of communication in the day and age they lived in.
When Imogen answered the call, Amy told her what a great time she’d had in her soft voice and addictive American accent.
She’d had a great time too. The best time.
Imogen thought back to first dates that she’d been on in the past, with Chelsea and the few other women she had dated before her.
They had all had the very common theme of awkward.
Of course, Imogen knew that first dates were renowned for being awkward, but the thing was, her date with Amy had been anything but.
It was like Amy was this near stranger who had seamlessly slotted into Imogen’s life as if she had already been there for years.
How was that possible after only a few hours together?
So, yeah, Imogen was smiling. A lot. And nothing seemed to be able to stop it.
Two smashed glasses by a couple of tipsy young women?
Imogen smiled while she brushed up the glass.
Their most popular beer running out when the order wasn’t due until the next day?
Imogen smiled through the customer complaints and calmly recommended some of the other brands.
Someone leaving a bunch of paper towels in the sink while the tap was running so the bathroom floor flooded?
Well, her smile had momentarily faltered with that one, but she had grabbed the mop and sorted it with minimal despair.
“And there’s another chair totally banjaxed,” Piper said in frustration as she walked past the bar with the cushion of the broken chair under one arm and its snapped legs under the other. She narrowed her eyes at Imogen. “Are you humming?”
Was she? She felt pretty hummy, and Taylor Swift’s new album was playing, so she probably was. “I hadn’t realised humming was a crime.”
“It’s a crime when the place is falling down around us,” Piper said. “Seriously, could anything else go wrong today?”
Imogen pointed up at the massive crack in one of the wooden beams above their heads. “The ceiling could cave in.” A risk she was always quietly aware of.
Piper’s eyes widened. “Immy! I wasn’t asking for actual suggestions. And that’s the sort of thing that would usually terrify you, but there you are saying it all easy breezy.”
“Leave her alone,” Niamh said as she concentrated while measuring a shot of whiskey into a faux-crystal tumbler. “She’s in her post-date bliss phase and I for one love to see it.”
“Well, I love to see it too, but I would love it even more if this Amy turned out to be a dab hand with a hammer and some nails.” Piper rounded the bar to leave the broken chair out back with the rest of the rubbish.
“Maybe she is. I’ll ask her,” Imogen replied casually.
“Will you? Will you really?” Piper asked, joining them behind the bar. “Because you didn’t ask her any of the film gossip that I wanted you to ask yesterday.”
“That’s because they were too busy kissing,” Niamh said teasingly as she walked past them to deliver the whiskey to Talkative Tim.
Luckily, he had joined One Pint Willy for a drink today, so Niamh wouldn’t have to hang around for a long, drawn-out conversation.
When he was alone, Tim could talk the hind leg off a donkey, and it could be difficult to escape.
“I can’t believe there was sexy clifftop kissing,” Piper said to Imogen. “I’ve had lots of sexy kissing, but I don’t think I’ve ever had it on top of a cliff.”
“I highly recommend it,” Imogen said wistfully, thinking back to how amazing Amy’s lips felt against her own. And Luck’s Bruach had been the perfect backdrop to the perfect first kiss.
“Knowing my luck, I’d fall off.”
Imogen laughed. “We were at a very safe distance from the edge or that might have been a possibility. Let’s just say we certainly got into it.”
Piper straightened and stuck her hands on her hips. “Let’s just say more. What do you mean you got into it? Was there sexy touching as well as sexy kissing? You didn’t mention any sexy touching yesterday. And you know how I live for details.”
“Define sexy touching.”
“Define it? Jesus, you have been out of the dating game for too long.” Piper stepped forward. “There are levels, Immy.”
“Levels?”
Piper nodded. “Uh-huh. Sexy touching levels. Okay.” She set herself like she was a lecturer about to address a class full of students.
She held up a finger. “There are five. Level one. Innocent touching. You know, the sweet things. Fingers through the hair. Hands down the arms, the back. Fingers interlocked. That sort of thing.”
“What are we talking about?” Niamh asked with interest as she returned and leaned her back against the bar.
“I’m being educated on sexy touching levels,” Imogen told her.
Niamh’s expression turned knowing. “Ah, fair enough. Piper is all about the levels. What one are we on?”
“Going on to number two,” Piper said, holding up an extra finger. “Which is basically all of level one, combined with some subtle grazes of more intimate areas. I.e. Boobs and bum. Nothing major. Just some light, passing contact.”
Imogen felt her cheeks heat up. They might have reached a level two. At one point during their kiss, there had been hands just about everywhere. “What’s level three?”
“Level three involves more deliberate touching of those intimate areas. Heavy petting, grabbing, some squeezing. That sort of thing. Also, full body contact comes into play. Were boobs pressed together? Maybe even a little over the clothes grinding?”
Imogen recalled a bit of an ass grab, and there was definitely bodily contact. They couldn’t get their bodies pressed together close enough. But overall, most of their touches had remained innocent enough. “I already know that we didn’t, but dare I even ask what reaching a level four entails?”
Piper gave her a wicked grin. “Skin on skin. Hands reaching underneath clothes. Maybe even dipping beneath underwear and—”
Imogen held up a hand. “No elaboration needed, I get it.” She blew out a breath. She never had been as relaxed talking about these types of things as Piper was. Though she doubted many people were as open as Piper. “And I’m guessing level five is—”
“Sex.” Piper nodded. She trailed a hand through the air. “Hands, mouths, bodies—the full intimate experience. So?” She raised her eyebrows. “What level was the clifftop sexy touching?”
Imogen knew that her cheeks were now blazing, but she’d tell them anyway. These were her best friends, and they told each other everything. “I think I would call it a two point five.”
Piper snorted a laugh. “Oh, Immy. Trust you to come up with your own level.”
“Well, most of it was innocent enough,” Imogen said defensively.
Piper held up her hands. “I’m not slagging. Between a two and a three on a first date is an excellent foundation for future dates, if you ask me. Going too far too soon can ruin things.”
“Oh yeah. Because you never pull a level five on a first date,” Niamh said to her dryly.
“What can I say? Sometimes a quick level five is all I’m looking for,” Piper replied with a shrug. “Second dates aren’t for everyone. But they are for Immy.”
Niamh hummed her agreement. “That is true, Imogen’s never been a one-date wonder. And going to level two on the first date means that you must be really into this woman.”
Imogen let out a blissful sigh. “I do like her a lot. I keep thinking about her and feeling all giddy inside. How has this happened to me? Imogen King, hater of relationships and all things romantic?” Out of the three of them, she was the least likely to meet someone—mainly because she wasn’t open to it.
Or hadn’t been until now. Piper, on the other hand, met women all the time.
Dating was her thing, and she was very open to meeting all types of women.
Not like Niamh, who had painfully high and perhaps even unreasonable expectations.
Niamh did still put herself out there though, and went on dates from time to time, but she was always quick to find something wrong with them.
She had an idea of her perfect partner in her mind, and she refused to compromise or deviate from it.
“The best things happen when you least expect it,” Piper said, and she was right. Imogen would never have expected the woman of her dreams to walk right into their bar and ask her out and effortlessly pull her right out of her rut.
Was woman of her dreams a stretch too far? Amy certainly seemed like a very good dream anyway. The kind that you woke up from feeling all warm and fuzzy afterward.
“Have you spoken to her today?” Niamh asked.