Chapter Eleven
The building that housed the Wishing Well was really frickin’ old.
Probably hundreds of years old in some parts of its original structure.
And with umpteen years of neglect on top of that, it felt very unstable in places too.
Imogen hoped and prayed that it was much stronger than it seemed.
The rattly windows currently felt like they were about to blow right in on top of them, due to the storm that had snuck in overnight and was now battering the village with serious vigour.
The weather forecast had predicted some wind and rain, but what they had been hit with was a whole other level.
Maybe Ballyluck was getting the worst of it—they were nearly on the edge of a cliff after all.
As the wind howled and the rain lashed down, Imogen made a mental note to run upstairs and check on both the apartments soon. The windows were bad, and she didn’t have much faith in how sturdy the roof was either.
Thank God they had remembered to bring in all their signage and flowers from outside or they would probably have blown into the sea and sailed halfway to Scotland by now.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll sell too many platters today,” Niamh said without taking her eyes off the front door which the wind kept blowing open every two minutes.
Piper was standing beside it armed with a mop and bucket, ready to soak up any rain that flooded in when it did. “I don’t think we’ll sell much of anything today. Who in their right mind is coming out in that? You’d have to be buck daft.”
“Even One Pint Willy hasn’t ventured out,” Imogen said.
It was six o’clock and they currently had zero customers in the bar.
Not a one. If Willy wasn’t prepared to brave the elements, Imogen was nearly sure that no one else would either.
Even the Wednesday Gossip Club hadn’t made an appearance all day, and they were regular fixtures.
Imogen absently wondered if they would still congregate for their weekly gossip on Zoom or something if the Wi-Fi stayed on.
“Should we just close up for the day?” Piper asked once she’d finished mopping up the latest puddle and rung out the mop again. “I can rustle us up a stir-fry.”
Niamh considered it. “I do enjoy your stir-fry. But what if someone does make the effort to come all the way over here in the storm and they can’t get in because we aren’t here? I’d feel so bad.”
“I get that, but I can’t see it happening,” Imogen said. They struggled enough for customers in good weather. “It’s like a ghost town out there.”
“Give it another hour?” Niamh suggested with a hopeful wince. “Or you guys can go up, and I’ll wait here. I doubt I’ll struggle.”
“It’s okay, I can wait with you. I haven’t had a chance to get to the gym lately, so this mopping business will do wonders for my arms.” Piper gave them a flex.
Imogen smiled, admiring Piper for finding a positive in a rubbish situation. How did she always manage to do that?
She perched herself on the edge of one of the wooden barstools opposite where Niamh was standing behind the bar.
“It’s not like I have any other plans now either, so I’ll wait too,” she said.
Wasn’t it just Imogen’s luck that there had to be a storm on the same night she was supposed to see Amy?
Once the weather had gone from bad to worse earlier that afternoon, Imogen had texted Amy to cancel their plans.
Well, reschedule them for a better evening.
Amy had argued at first, but Imogen insisted.
There was no way she was going to drag Amy the whole way out to Ballyluck in the middle of a storm.
And she doubted the narrow, rutty roads into Ballyluck were passable anyway, between the flooding and the trees that had no doubt been blown down by the freakishly strong winds.
“I can’t believe tonight was the night I was finally going to meet Amelia Whitlock and the weather decided to turn all Day After Tomorrow,” Piper said.
“Yeah, I’m so disappointed for you,” Imogen deadpanned back.
“Obviously, I’m more annoyed for you, Immy. Like eighty percent for you, twenty for me.” Piper grinned as she leaned on the mop. “Seriously though, how disappointed are you that you couldn’t see her tonight? On a scale of one to ten?”
The lights flickered and all three of them looked at each other with apprehension. Luckily, the flickering stopped, and the lights stayed on.
Imogen breathed a sigh of relief and went back to their conversation. “Twelve.” She would never have admitted it to anyone else, but Piper and Niamh were her safe place—they’d never judge her or tell her how she should or shouldn’t feel.
“Ugh, that really sucks. I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone a twelve,” Piper said wistfully.
“I know I haven’t,” Niamh interjected. She threw her cloth over her shoulder and leaned her elbows on the bar.
“That’s because you’ve never liked anyone enough to miss them that much,” Piper said. “Not with those painfully high standards of yours.”
Niamh scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, that’s probably true.” She wasn’t offended. Niamh’s level of fussiness when it came to women was a running joke between the three of them. She fully agreed that she was over-particular.
“Maybe I’ve never liked anyone that much either,” Piper said, like she was pondering the idea somewhere in the deep crevices of her mind. “Do you think we’re all broken?”
“How do you mean?” Niamh asked with interest.
“Well, there’s fussy old you. Calls it off with someone if their laugh is a bit annoying or they eat their pizza crust first.”
Niamh looked at her in horror. “And that would be a valid reason because why would anyone ever do that?”
Imogen tried not to laugh at how serious she got about it. “Do you remember you broke up with someone because they used too many emojis in their messages?”
Niamh glared at them both. “How could I forget? You both contacted me by emoji only for weeks after. I had to block the pair of you to get you to stop.”
Imogen and Piper did burst out laughing then. They’d had a lot of fun with that. “What about you, Pipes? How do you think you’re broken?” Imogen asked.
“Hello?” Piper blinked. “Serial dater? Can’t settle down with one person because I get bored, or I get itchy feet and move on to the next one? I’m textbook for broken. It’s almost dull it’s so obvious.”
“I think that has more to do with you not meeting the right person yet,” Niamh told her. “I’ve always said there will be one woman who comes along and changes your whole world. You just haven’t met her yet.”
Piper didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue either. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The wind blew another fierce gust, and the windows banged again. All three of them jumped at the noise. It didn’t seem like the storm was going to calm down any time soon anyway.
“And then there’s Immy,” Piper said after a few beats, grabbing her attention back from their barely surviving windows.
“Go on then. How am I broken?” she asked grudgingly. Like she didn’t have a hundred reasons of her own. She could probably write a book of them.
“Well, you’re different,” Piper said, her face and tone both kind.
That was the thing about Piper—underneath all the fun and all the teasing, lay a heart of the finest gold.
“You’re the one who had all her shit together until some idiot came along and smashed it into smithereens.
And now you just need the right person to come, put it all back together, and make you believe in love again. ”
“Which they will,” Niamh added in support, reaching over to put a hand on her arm.
“If they haven’t already,” Piper murmured, intentionally loud enough for Imogen to hear. “Maybe we’ll have to add that stubborn streak to your brokenness.”
Imogen was just about to rebuke her claim, when the door burst open again. Only this time it was opened by an actual person rather than the wind.
And it was only when the person pushed down her hood and removed her hat that Imogen realised it wasn’t just any person. She jumped right off her stool. “Amy? What are you doing here?” She rushed toward her. “Jesus, you’re soaked.”
Amy ran a hand through her hair that had gotten wet despite the hat and the hood. “Yeah, it’s not the best out there.” She gave a sheepish smile. “Um, I decided that I didn’t want to cancel our plans after all.”
“But…the weather…how did you even get here?” Imogen asked, still staring at her in shock.
“I sweet-talked Christopher, one of the drivers, into bringing me.” Amy looked down at her rain-soaked clothes and gritted her teeth. “He couldn’t make it the whole way into town because the road was like a river. So, I walked the rest of the way.”
“You walked?”
“Not too far,” Amy quickly reassured her. “Christopher made it to the bend right before town, but then the rest of the road was all underwater. He offered to walk me the rest of the way, but I felt bad enough that I’d dragged him out, so I told him to wait in the car.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here. You’re an eejit,” Imogen said, fondness pouring out of her despite all her efforts to keep a lid on it. Amy had literally walked through a storm to see her.
They stood there grinning at each other for several seconds like they’d forgotten anyone else existed until someone—Piper—cleared her throat loudly enough to snap Imogen out of it.
“Right.” Imogen laughed, suddenly aware of herself again. “Amy, you haven’t officially met my friends yet. This is Piper, and this is Niamh.”
“I haven’t, though I feel like I have from the way Imogen talks about you both.
I’ve been looking forward to officially saying hi.
” Even though her clothes were probably absolutely soaked through, Amy walked forward and greeted them both individually.
“It’s so great to meet you,” she said with a genuine smile as she shook Piper’s hand.
“I’d hug you, but you wouldn’t thank me for it right now. ”