Chapter Ten #3
“I tried that before, but it still has an effect.” When things had ended with Chelsea, strangers online had torn Imogen apart like they knew her personally from a handful of videos and comment sections.
People called her cold, controlling, miserable—like they had any idea what their relationship had actually been like behind a camera.
Some people had said worse things that she couldn’t bear to think about.
Even before the breakup, the abuse had gotten so bad that Imogen had ended up deleting all of her social media just to escape it.
Afterwards, she’d become paranoid in public.
Maybe it was irrational, but if somebody looked at her for a second too long or whispered nearby, her mind instantly jumped to wondering if they recognised her from the internet and had already decided they hated her.
“I would never date a celebrity, Niamh. And that’s that. ”
“Are we talking about Amelia Whitlock again?” Piper asked as she returned with a tray filled with glasses and wooden boards.
Imogen nodded. “I was telling Niamh that she wants to meet me.”
Piper set the tray on the bar and beamed. “Yeah? Tell her to come here.”
Imogen’s first instinct was to decline, but then she found herself considering it. “That might not be a bad idea, you know. At least I’d have you both on hand for moral support.”
Piper’s eyes practically twinkled. “Oh, we’d be here alright.”
“And you could disappear up to your place if things get too much or you need space.” Niamh turned and looked pointedly at Piper.
“Oh aye,” Piper said. “Because you’d be so much better. I do know how to play it cool, you know. Ask any number of women.”
Niamh rolled her eyes.
“Saw that,” Piper said.
“You were meant to,” Niamh shot back. “Seriously though, we will behave. Won’t we, Pipes?”
“Uh-huh. Cross my heart.” Her mischievous smile said otherwise, but Imogen had to laugh. Piper would always be Piper—it was why they loved her like they did.
“Okay, fine. I’ll ask her to meet here.” Before she changed her mind, Imogen picked up her phone and fired off the message extending Amy an invitation to the pub on whatever night she was free.
Then she quickly shoved the phone back into her pocket like it was burning her hand.
Imogen did that anytime she sent a text that she was nervous about—hid from the response for at least a half hour afterward.
Thankfully, the Wishing Well was busier than normal, and she had some actual work to do.
She grabbed a tray and wandered across the pub to grab the rest of the empty glasses.
Maybe that would take her mind off the fact that her phone had already buzzed in her jeans pocket and butterflies in her tummy had gone feral.
“Hey, Willy. How are you tonight?” Imogen asked as she cleared away three wine glasses from the table next to his—three wine glasses that had been ordered by three women Imogen had never seen before, meaning they had officially attracted some new customers.
Better yet, those glasses were from their second round of drinks after they’d already shared one of the fancy charcuterie boards.
People were staying. Spending money. Enjoying themselves. Imogen could hardly believe it.
Those ladies hadn’t been the first new customers in that night either.
If it kept up, Imogen was pretty sure they could budget for some new chairs soon.
Maybe even some of the pretty outdoor string lights that they planned on adding to make the place look more inviting in the dark evenings of winter.
“Aye, I’m dead on. I was just saying to yer wee mate there, there’s some atmosphere in here tonight.
Busy as I’ve ever seen it.” And One Pint Willy would know.
He had been a loyal patron for years, through all the Wishing Well’s different tenures.
There weren’t many days that Willy didn’t come in for his pint.
Though Imogen suspected it was more about the company than the drink.
She smiled, his statement aligning with her own thinking. “Long may it continue.”
“Oh, I think it might. I heard them women that were sitting there saying that they taxied all the way over here from a town over. Heard about this place going all trendy when they were buying their veggies from Sally.”
Good old Sally, spreading the word as she promised.
Between the gift of Sally’s gab, and what Niamh was putting out on their Wishing Well social media accounts, word was getting around.
“Watch this space, Willy. There will be plenty more changes to come in time.” She gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder and moved on to the next dirty table.
The door swung open, and she looked up to see a group of six people entering the pub, laughing and chattering away.
With a spring in her step, Imogen quickly gathered everything up off the table and made her way back behind the bar, ready to help Piper and Niamh if they needed it.
It felt good, this tiny slice of success.
A few extra tables might not seem like much—it wasn’t like they were packed.
But somehow to Imogen, it felt like the start of something big.
And other than Piper and Niamh, there was only one person she wanted to share it with.
While Piper dazzled the group with her infectious personality and Niamh got started on the drinks, Imogen slid round the corner and pulled her phone out again, discovering three messages waiting for her from Amy.
Her treacherous heart soared because it was apparently ignoring all the memos that it wasn’t allowed to do that anymore.
I will be there. I can come tomorrow? Or the next day? Or the next? Tell me when, I just want to see you.
Imogen sighed and slumped back against the wall. How was she supposed to not be into this woman? And the next two messages only made it harder again.
I would come right now if I could.
Sorry, maybe that’s being more than friendly, but I can’t help it. I’m still adjusting to our new normal and I miss the original us. I’ll do better.
Amy had probably taken Imogen’s silence as disapproval.
She wished so badly that she could get out of her own head, text Amy back, and tell her that she didn’t disapprove at all—because knowing that Amy still wanted her was everything.
And it wasn’t like her own feelings had faded either. They hadn’t even a tiny bit.
“She’s famous, she’s famous, she’s famous,” Imogen whispered to herself as a reminder of why, despite her feelings, she couldn’t back down. She needed to stay strong and hold onto that.
Tomorrow was all she sent back. One word. No explanations or reasons. Because telling Amy that she missed her felt like something her heart couldn’t survive unscathed.