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.”
Imogen laughed. “I read a lot, and I do use an e-reader.” She approached the bookcase where Amy was standing and scanned her collection.
“But if I read a book I really like, I order a physical copy to keep here. And then I reread them as soon as they arrive and again whenever I need something familiar.” Though Imogen did like the feel of a book in her hands too, so maybe that meant that she was old school. But the e-reader was so convenient.
“Comfort reads—I like that. Alright. Let me try again.”
Imogen held out a hand for her to go ahead.
Amy scanned the room some more. “Okay, I’ve got something. The couch.” Amy pointed to it. “It’s facing the window.”
“So?”
“So, you have a TV over there.” Amy held her hand out to showcase where Imogen’s TV sat on top of a drawer unit at the side of the room.
“And only the single-seater chair faces it. Your couch is tilted toward that window. So, either you prefer the single seat—which I doubt because all your stuff is on the coffee table beside the couch—or you would rather spend your lounging time looking outside than staring at a screen. I’m guessing it’s the second one. ”
Imogen tilted her head from side to side. “I’m not sure I can give you that one.”
“Why not?” Amy asked with feigned indignance. “Is it not true?”
“Well, yes, it’s true. But you had an upper hand because you already know I love the outdoors, and I’m sure you gathered from our conversations that I don’t watch a lot of TV.”
Amy stared at her for a few seconds and narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I used my previous knowledge to my advantage.”
Imogen grinned. “Exactly. But I suppose if you didn’t already know that about me, then the sofa thing might have been a good giveaway.”
“It so woulda,” Amy said. She sighed loudly. “One more chance?”
“Of course. I’m enjoying your assessments.” Imogen had never considered that her space said much about her, but she could see how it could give some insight if someone looked properly.
Amy concentrated. She took her time walking around the room.
“These plants are another indicator that you love the outdoors and had to have a little piece of it in your home. But I know I can’t use that one.
” More slow steps. “It is tidy. Everything has a place. Which tells me that you like to be organised, but I’m sure I can do better than that. ”
“Basic stuff,” Imogen teased her. In truth, the observation was a good one. Imogen did like to be organised. But she also wanted to hear what else Amy had to say about her.
“A-ha!” Amy stopped at the shelving unit on the wall and looked back at Imogen like the cat that got the cream. “You’re sentimental.”
“You think so?”
“Oh, I know so.” Amy picked up a framed picture of Imogen with her family and set it back down again. “And not because of the photos, which are really cute, by the way. Your family looks lovely.”
“Thank you,” Imogen said, glancing at the picture Amy had been looking at.
It had been taken at her most recent birthday dinner.
They always tried to get a photograph of the whole family together whenever they met up for occasions—especially because there were only a handful of days in the year where they all managed to convene in the same space.
It felt wrong not to document them in some way. “If not the photos, then what?”
Amy held up another photo of Piper, Niamh, and her at a concert.
“There’s a ticket stub in this one that you held onto.
You wanted to remember this night.” She carefully put it back and pointed to an ornamental dog.
“This is an antique. I’m guessing it’s probably been in your family for a while rather than something you picked up from a store.
” She paused and kept looking. “And there’s this cup—it has a crack down the side.
It must mean something to you.” Amy glanced at her in question.
“It’s my mug from Clover—the insurance place I worked before. It didn’t survive the move,” Imogen explained.
Amy grinned. “But you kept it anyway, which proves my point. I’d also hedge a guess that you have something from your childhood stashed away somewhere. A stuffed animal or a blanket maybe.”
Imogen held up her two hands. “Guilty as charged. My childhood teddy, Champ, sleeps on my nightstand.” Sometimes in her bed too, but she refused to admit to that.
Though Amy probably already knew—she had been spot-on about everything else.
The concert ticket, the dog. If she looked harder, she would also find an old plane ticket from her favourite trip to Italy, and a badge from her twenty-first birthday.
Imogen liked mementos. “You’re good,” she said.
“I told you I was,” Amy said proudly. “Sentimental Imogen.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Amy walked toward her and gave Imogen a soft peck on the lips.
“A good thing, definitely. Sentimental, organised, family-orientated, outdoorsy, old school. There’s a lot of great stuff packed in there.
” She ran her hands down Imogen’s arms and interlocked their fingers, before leaning in for another kiss, lingering longer this time.