Chapter Seven #2
Of course, platters were only the beginning.
The three of them had big plans for the Wishing Well.
Niamh was particularly interested in doing themed nights and activities.
Maybe a weekly quiz. And Piper never stopped talking about adding live music at the weekends.
All great ideas that they could ill afford.
First, they needed to lure in more punters.
“How did it go with Connor?” Imogen asked as she entered the Wishing Well and joined Niamh and Piper who were already chatting behind the bar.
“How did it go? How did it go?” Niamh stuck her hands on her hips. “I’m only back. You’ve done two visits in the time that it took me to speak to Connor about a few slices of meat.”
Imogen tried to stifle her grin. She had suspected it wouldn’t be an easy ride. “And did you and Connor do a deal?”
“Yes,” Niamh said in exasperation. “But only after I stood looking at his entire stamp collection while he watched me with those doting eyes of his. It might have been the longest hour of my life.”
“He does give you very doting looks,” Piper said in agreement. “I didn’t know Connor was a philatelist.”
Imogen and Niamh both turned to look at her.
“What? I know things.”
Huh. Piper was full of surprises. Imogen turned back to Niamh. “Did you like his stamp collection?” she asked innocently.
Niamh glared at her. “By page thirty-seven, no, Imogen. I wasn’t a fan.”
“You should have said you were in a hurry,” Piper said. “You’re too nice, I keep telling you. It’s why you always get stuck with Talkative Tim as well.”
“I know, but Connor’s such a sweet man, and he was so excited to show me.” Niamh sighed. “I’m soft, okay? But yes, we have our fancy meats and you both owe me for getting them.”
Imogen hugged her. “You’re brilliant. Neither of us will ever forget your sacrifice for the cause.”
Piper pumped her fist. “Thanks for taking one for the team, Niamhey. Although, to be fair, he probably wouldn’t want to show us his stamp collection anyway,” she teased her.
“I go in there most days and I haven’t been offered the stamp collection once,” Imogen said.
“Oh, shut it, you pair,” Niamh said, but there was definitely a smile threatening.
Imogen laughed. “How about you? Find what we were looking for?” she turned to ask Piper.
“Oh, I came through too. Take a look at these.” Piper grabbed her phone and turned it around.
“So, for our standard-sized platters we have these ones.” She showed Imogen some long wooden boards with handles.
The shapes were all similar, but each one slightly different.
Hand-cut. All unique, according to the caption.
“I really like them. The sizes look perfect too.”
“I thought so,” Piper said. “And they can be personalised, so I designed a little Wishing Well logo to be printed on the bottom of all of them, and I’ve added a different quote to each board too.
” She shrugged. “Just for fun. Irish sayings and that sort of thing. The tourists will love it.” It made sense.
They weren’t far from a lot of the tourist areas, so if some folk did happen to stumble upon Ballyluck, they’d be ready.
Imogen didn’t see why people wouldn’t want to visit Ballyluck.
The clifftop views were incredible, there was a scenic walk down to the beach, and the hills sprawled for miles. It was like a postcard.
Niamh pointed at her. “Great idea. Gives us some originality.”
Piper beamed. “Thanks. I thought so too.” She scrolled again and turned her phone back to show them. “And for the jumbo platters, we’ve got some big old wooden shamrocks. Again, with our logo.”
“Oh my God, I love these,” Niamh said. “Yes, Pipes. You understood the assignment.”
“Smashed the assignment, more like,” Imogen gushed. She’d envisioned something simpler herself, but all Piper’s ideas were so much better.
“Good, because I already went ahead and ordered them. They’ll be delivered by the end of the week.
And…” Piper paused while she looked for something else on her phone.
“I thought we could have some seasonal décor scattered around the food. I’ve focussed on autumn for now, obviously.
Look how cute these are.” She showed them some miniature pumpkins, and artificial leaves and twigs that Imogen and Niamh both agreed would look great.
“We’re all sorted then,” Niamh said excitedly, high-fiving both of them. “Operation Platters is a go.”
“What’s a go?” Down-it Debs asked as she approached—nothing stayed secret for long in Ballyluck, which was a good thing in this instance.
But it was true. Friends or near-strangers—everyone liked to know one another’s business.
Imogen hadn’t even heard Debs come in. Lovely woman, but she never failed to sink a full glass of wine in under five minutes. It was impressive, really.
“We’re starting food, Debs,” Niamh said. “The sort of thing that would go lovely with a nice glass of red. Hopefully, we can tempt you when we start serving next week.”
Debs looked intrigued by Niamh’s sales pitch—she hadn’t been the leading salesperson at Clover for so many years for nothing. “Well, you girls know how partial I am to a nice glass of red. Maybe I’ll have to have two from now on if there’s some lovely goodies to go with it.”
Imogen smiled because that was their hope, bigger orders. The interaction with Debs gave her a good feeling about their plan. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket, a reminder of the other thing she had a good feeling about. The future was starting to look bright.
Was it Thursday yet?
“I feel like you’re never going to find the right time to be honest about us,” Amelia said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Not with him or me. Not even with yourself.”
Bridget paced, stressed out by the conversation. “I have been honest with you.”
Amelia shook her head quickly, blinking away the tears before they spilled. “You told me that you didn’t want me to date someone else. You never told me why.”
“Because you already know why,” Bridget declared with sudden passion, taking quick strides toward her. “Why do you need me to say it?”
“Because I do.” Amelia took a step toward her too. “I need to hear the words, or else I’ll keep torturing myself every night, asking myself if I’m making everything up.”
“And what is it that you think you’re making up, Scarlett?” Bridget fixed her with a fiery stare, daring her to answer. She lifted her chin. “What?”
Amelia refused to look away, well, Scarlett refused.
Amelia was just following the script. “That I’m so much more than your friend, Eve.
That we’ve never been friends. Not really.
That you dragged me all the way over here to some cottage in the middle of nowhere to be your bridesmaid, but you don’t really want me to be your bridesmaid. ”
“Why would I not want that?” Bridget whispered, her stare piercing and unwavering—she was good at intense.
“Because you don’t want to marry him,” Amelia said softly, almost pleadingly.
Bridget kept looking at her, unflinching despite the emotion building. She swiped away a tear with her finger. “He’s the person I should be with. He’s perfect for God’s sake. Exactly the type of person I knew I would end up with.”
“Okay then.” Amelia blinked a few times and nodded before she backed away. “Marry him. But stop whatever it is you’re doing with me right now, because I can’t take it anymore.” Amelia turned to walk away, but Bridget caught her arm.
“Scarlett, wait.” She pulled Amelia back. “I said he’s the person I should be with. I didn’t say he’s the person I wanted.”
Amelia slowly tilted her head up to look at her again. Bridget still hadn’t let go of her arm and pulled her closer than ever. Amelia swallowed as she gazed up into Bridget’s eyes. “Am I?”
Bridget blew out a heavy breath. “You know you are,” she whispered before pressing her lips to Amelia’s.
Amelia froze for a few seconds, because Scarlett had to be momentarily shocked by what was happening.
Then she responded and moved her lips against Bridget’s.
She threaded her hand through Bridget’s hair like she was supposed to, while Bridget gasped into her mouth and deepened the kiss just as Amelia had been expecting her to—it was written that way in the script.
That was movie kisses for you—pre-planned and mechanical.
Yet, it couldn’t look mechanical. That was the tricky part.
If there was a hand on a shoulder or an ass grab, the move had to be in your head at least three seconds before it happened so it came across as natural.
Wait. Was Amelia meant to do an ass grab?
“Cut,” the director yelled, and they instantly pulled away. “Very nice, ladies. Take five, then we’ll go again for angles.”
Maybe not. “See, that wasn’t so scary,” Amelia said as she backed away some, unable to resist the jibe.
Bridget gave her a withering look. “I was not scared. It was fine, I guess. You were a little bit stilted, but I feel like I did a good enough job to make us look convincing.”
Amelia couldn’t resist a laugh. This woman. “Well, gee, thanks for making me look good.”
Bridget glared again at the obvious sarcasm, then her face turned menacing. “Maybe you should have imagined that I was your fancy woman. Imogen, was it?”
Now it was Amelia’s turn to glare, though she quickly forced her face back to neutral after her slip. However, Bridget’s satisfied smirk told her that she hadn’t made the correction fast enough. Amelia cursed herself, but in her defence, it was difficult not to let Bridget get under her skin.