Chapter Eight #2
When Amy pulled back again with that heart-melting smile of hers, Imogen felt like she was floating on a cloud of happiness.
She had previously wondered if it was going to be awkward tonight.
The two of them, alone, in her apartment.
No outside distractions. No activities to focus on.
Just the two of them, interacting, their connection under a microscope of seclusion.
But the comfort factor that had been evident between them from the start was only growing stronger.
Amy’s quiet confidence helped. The way she could walk right up to Imogen and kiss her like that with no preamble.
Like it was her right to do so—a right that Imogen was only too happy to hand over.
But it was something else too. They were so naturally at ease with one another, like only two people who were truly meant to be in each other’s lives could be.
Imogen was a firm believer that people came into each other’s lives for a reason.
Sometimes it was for a short time, and sometimes it was forever.
As for the reasons why—they varied. Sometimes it was to teach some kind of lesson—she’d certainly been there.
Other times, it was for friendship or companionship.
And once in a blue moon, it was romantic.
Two people who were supposed to find each other because they were simply meant to be together. An inevitability.
Which category did Amy fall into? Only time would tell, but there would be a reason they’d met. Imogen knew that much.
“Do I smell food by any chance?” Amy asked, squeezing her hand gently.
Imogen smiled. “You do. I cooked and left it simmering so it should be just about ready to serve.”
Amy closed her eyes and smiled. “That might be the best news I’ve heard today. I’m starving. And whatever it is smells incredible.”
“It’s only a pasta recipe I picked up in a cookery class I took in Italy.” Imogen usually made a point of taking a class anytime she went there on holiday. The food was too good not to replicate.
“Which is where all the best pasta recipes originate.” See, Amy knew it too.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Imogen smiled when she realised that they were both still standing in the middle of her living room, holding hands, casually talking about pasta.
It was very domestic in a cutesy kind of way.
“I thought we could eat, and then I could either turn my window-facing sofa around so we can watch a film or else we could play a game? Your choice.” Okay, when she said them out loud, both her date ideas sounded kind of lame.
But her reasoning was that Amy must like movies if she was in the business.
And Imogen also thought games were a great way to get to know each other.
You could tell a lot about a person from the way they played Monopoly, for example.
Did they snatch up all the properties immediately and run out of cash?
Did they have their favourites that they waited to buy?
Did they steal money from the bank when you weren’t looking?
Though Imogen always kept an eye out for cheaters. Her mum was dreadful for it.
Amy didn’t hesitate. “A game, definitely. I’ve had enough of movies this week.”
Imogen silently celebrated inside her head.
She liked movies well enough, mostly older stuff though.
The nineties in particular had been a great decade for films. But she didn’t really watch as many of the modern ones—though she would probably make an exception when the one Amy was working on came out.
“A game it is. Though, I have to warn you that I like to win.” It was an understatement. Imogen was painfully competitive.
“What’s the point in playing otherwise?” Amy replied with a confident grin of her own. Maybe Imogen had met her match. Game on.
“Do you want to sit in here and relax while I put the finishing touches on dinner?” Imogen asked.
“No way. I want to join you in the kitchen and watch you being all cute and chef-y with your pasta that I can’t wait to try.”
Imogen felt a tiny skip in her heartbeat.
Amy made little comments like that all the time.
Mildly flirtatious, but incredibly flattering.
Imogen could easily get swept off her feet if she wasn’t careful.
And she did have to be careful. The past had taught her that much.
“You want to distract me you mean?” she said, keeping the tone light and playful.
“Me?” Amy placed a hand on her heart. “How would I ever be distracting?”
Imogen almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the question because, did Amy seriously not know the effect she had?
On Imogen anyway. Her trademark level-head turned to complete mush when she was around Amy.
“Because you’re so much better to look at than the herbs and spices I still need to add. ”
“Are you saying you can’t keep your eyes off me, Imogen?” Amy asked with a ghost of a smile on her face.
Imogen let herself get pulled into Amy’s soft green stare. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she said because she was powerless not to.
For a second, Imogen thought Amy was going to kiss her again.
The hungry look she was giving Imogen said that she wanted to kiss her in a way that would make her forget about cooking dinner and maybe even her own name.
But then, with a grin, Amy pushed back and marched off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Keep your head in the game, Imogen. I like my pasta seasoned just right.”
Imogen huffed out a laugh and had no choice but to follow her. This woman could keep her on her toes.
Despite that, Amy turned out to be a help rather than a hindrance in the kitchen.
She was still fun to look at, that would always be true, but she was also happy to roll her sleeves up and lend a hand.
Amy grated some fresh parmesan into a bowl, while Imogen added her final touches to her bubbling dish on the stove—an uncomplicated but tasty Amatriciana.
They chatted about cooking, sauces, and side dishes while Imogen served two portions of pasta into her best bowls, the ones she kept for special occasions.
She topped the two meals off with some chilli flakes, black pepper, and a sprinkling of fresh parsley.
Finally, Imogen pulled a crusty loaf out of the oven that she had bought fresh from the Craic and Crumble that morning.
Cian had advised her to warm it up for four minutes before serving it.
Without being asked, Amy helped her to carry everything they needed to eat over to the breakfast bar.
The parmesan, condiments, oils, cutlery.
Imogen brought the plates, the breadbasket, and some water and wine for them to drink.
She was mainly sticking to water because she still had to drive Amy back later.
“This looks amazing, Imogen,” Amy said as soon as she sat down. “Are you sure you never had any dreams of becoming a chef?”
Imogen laughed as she took the seat across from her. “Cook for loads of people? With all that pressure?” She shook her head. “Cooking for you was scary enough.”
Amy took her first bite and gave an appreciative moan that Imogen felt all the way to her core. “Well, you didn’t need to be scared. You nailed this. I might not speak to you for the next ten minutes while I savour every bite.”
Imogen shifted in her seat and focussed on the compliment rather than her sudden arousal. “I’m glad you like it. Do you like to cook?” Even though they had chatted loads, Imogen was acutely aware that Amy still knew much more about her than she did about Amy.
“I do. I’m not as good as this.” Amy pointed down with her fork. “And I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like.”
“Why not?” Imogen wasn’t going to let her off the hook tonight. She wanted to learn more about the woman who had invaded her every waking thought lately.
Amy dabbed her mouth with a napkin and looked at her. “Work, mainly. I’ve been working away from home on a lot of my latest projects. And if I’m home and working, I usually get home late and order food.”
“It sounds like you work a lot,” Imogen said. She helped herself to a slice of bread and added a thin layer of butter. “Do you like your job?”
Amy took a swig of her water before she answered. “I love it. I know your feelings on the industry, but a lot of it’s exciting too, you know? There’s something magical about creating something for people to enjoy.”
Imogen half-regretted telling Amy how she felt about the industry.
She couldn’t help but notice how it made Amy a lot more guarded when she was talking about her job than she was when they talked about anything else.
“I’m sure it is magical,” she said, trying to show some enthusiasm.
“You must be really good too if you’re hired for different projects all the time. ”
Amy gave her a small smile. “I do okay. I’m particularly enjoying this project.”
“Oh yeah? Are the people you work with nice?” Imogen asked with interest. Maybe she would be able to get the scoop on some of the cast members for Piper. What were those actresses’ names again? Bridget Cle-something and Amelia White? Something like that.
“Some of them are, some of them aren’t. It’s the same as anywhere really. But I do like it here in Ireland. And the company I’ve been keeping in my spare time is pretty great too.”
“I thought you were only seeing me,” Imogen joked.
Amy laughed and threw a piece of bread at her. “You know I mean you.”
Imogen grinned because she did know. Maybe it was time to address the other elephant in the room. Because although things were great, it was always lingering there in the back of her mind. “I’m enjoying your company too. But you’re not here for long, are you?”
“A couple more months,” Amy said before taking another bite of her food.