Chapter Eleven #2
“It’s…it’s amazing to meet you.” Holy shit, was Piper blushing? So much for all her big talk. Imogen rolled her lips in and made a mental note to tease her at the earliest opportunity.
Niamh was much better at keeping her cool. “Really good to meet you, Amelia. Piper and I are both big fans of your work, though I’m sure people say that to you all the time.” Piper turned and gave Niamh a grateful look for rescuing their big moment. Imogen found it all much too entertaining.
Amy beamed. “Thank you. Don’t worry, hearing that never gets old. Who doesn’t love a compliment, am I right?”
“You so are,” Niamh said with obvious relief. Amy was good at putting people at ease. Imogen shouldn’t be surprised by that given how comfortable she had been with her from the start.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt you guys.” Amy turned back to Imogen. “I know you weren’t expecting me, so I can grab a chair and wait until you’re free. There’s no rush.”
Imogen scanned her gaze across the room. “Do I look not free to you?”
Amy looked around and laughed softly. “I guess so.” She ran her hand through her dripping wet hair again, pushing it back off her face.
Imogen frowned. “You must be foundered. We need to dry you off. Come on upstairs and I’ll grab you some fresh clothes.” Amy was a few inches shorter than she was, but a similar build. Imogen was sure she had stuff that would fit.
Amy looked down again at the outfit that was now clinging to her. Imogen knew it was clinging, because she had been trying very hard not to stare—not an easy feat. “Probably a good idea. I feel like I’m watering your floors everywhere I walk.”
“I’ve got a mop,” Piper shouted, and they all turned to look at her.
Imogen and Niamh exchanged a surreptitious look of amusement. When was Piper ever this awkward? “That you do,” Imogen said, and Piper looked like she either wanted to kill her or crawl into a hole and die. Probably a bit of both.
Amy, who was oblivious to Piper’s out of character lameness, gave her a smile of gratitude. “It was so nice to meet you both. Hopefully, I’ll get to talk to you a lot more when I’m not like a drowned rat.”
“Oh, you will. We have a million questions,” Niamh said. “About your work and your intentions with our Imogen.”
Imogen turned and shot her a look. What the hell? Because Piper had crumbled did Niamh think she had to step up and take on the role of embarrassing her? The look Niamh gave her back was defiant. Traitor.
Thankfully, Amy laughed it off. “And I’d be happy to answer any of them.”
Imogen shot Niamh another pointed look before leading Amy behind the bar and through the door to the stairway up to her apartment—safe from any interrogations.
When she closed the door behind them, Imogen took a quick walk around to check there was no rain pouring through the ceiling anywhere.
Upon inspection, the roof fortunately seemed to be holding up, which was a relief.
She scrambled through her bedroom drawers and picked out a pair of navy joggers and a long-sleeved T-shirt for Amy to wear, along with some socks because maybe Amy’s feet were wet too.
She grabbed one of her favourite hoodies too in case Amy was cold.
Imogen had been sensible enough to leave her heat on all day, so at least the apartment was nice and snug.
Amy was still standing in the one spot, looking around the living room when Imogen went back out to her.
“Here, these should be okay for you.” She handed the folded pile over.
“You can take a shower too if you want. There are fresh towels on the shelf. And there’s a hairdryer on the dresser in my room. Use whatever you want.”
Amy held up the clothes. “I’m sure a change of clothes will do fine. These are great, thank you.”
Were things more awkward between them now that they were alone?
Perhaps it would pass soon and they would get back into their groove.
Well, their new groove. “Have you eaten?” Imogen had originally planned to cook for them tonight, but obviously their plans had been cancelled, so she had nothing prepared.
But she could still throw something together.
“I haven’t, but don’t go to any trouble.” Amy shifted her weight. Definitely awkward. “I probably didn’t think my surprise through properly. I feel like I’m putting you out.”
“You’re never putting me out by coming here,” Imogen replied softly, unable to stop herself and wanting to put Amy at ease. She hated the thought of Amy feeling uncomfortable around her. “It’s the best surprise. I was so bummed out when I had to cancel.”
Amy’s smile was worth the divulgence. “Well, you still don’t need to go to any effort to cook or anything. We can just hang out. Chat. Be friends.”
Like she was going to let Amy go hungry after her going to all the effort to get there. “I’m definitely going to feed you. I just need to work out what.”
“Got any bread?” Amy asked with a raise of her eyebrows.
Imogen glanced over to the kitchen. “Yes.”
“Fillings for a sandwich?”
Imogen gave her a dubious look. “I can’t make you a sandwich for dinner.”
“You absolutely can, and I would love it. Do you know how often I indulge in eating bread?” Amy asked.
“I’m going to guess rarely.” Imogen doubted that complex carbohydrates were a staple of a Hollywood A-lister’s diet.
“Correct. I’m cold and I’m wet, and bread sounds like the best thing in the world right now. I’m game for a sandwich dinner if you are?”
Imogen mentally went over the contents of her fridge and nodded, confident she could provide some kind of sandwich that would be considered edible. “I am game. Your wish is my command. Go get yourself warm and dry and I’ll rustle something up.”
Imogen got to work while Amy slipped into her bedroom to get changed.
She sliced up some of the fresh wholemeal bloomer bread that she had treated herself to from Cian at the Craic and Crumble earlier, when she had nipped in to collect the bread order for the Wishing Well.
The smell of freshly baked bread had been too hard to resist, and she was glad now that she had been tempted.
She added a thin layer of mayonnaise to each slice, then she quickly crisped up some prosciutto.
It dawned on Imogen that she was putting far more effort into the sandwiches than she normally would for herself.
Once it was ready, she added it to the bread along with some sliced tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and rocket.
She topped it all off by adding some of Sally’s new, improved firecracker jam, which was absolutely incredible.
Sally kept outdoing herself on the jam front—she seriously could start her own official brand. Maybe Imogen would suggest it to her.
Making the executive decision that no one would want a cold sandwich on such a terrible night, she put both sandwiches under the grill to toast them and melt the cheese inside. Hopefully Amy agreed with her assessment and wanted something warm too.
In perfect timing, Amy re-emerged from Imogen’s bedroom at the same moment as Imogen was pulling the sandwiches out from under the grill.
Imogen did one of those looks—one where she glanced over quickly, looked away, then glanced again, letting her gaze linger far longer the second time around.
A double take which gave her away completely.
She couldn’t help it. Amy looked so much like herself again than she had done when she’d arrived, despite the fact she was now dressed in Imogen’s clothes.
Imogen liked that she was wearing them—there was something undeniably attractive about it.
The joggers were a tad long as Imogen had suspected they would be, but Amy had pushed the cuffs up her legs a bit to make up for it.
The top seemed like a good fit, and she was wearing the socks, so that had been a good call, not to mention ridiculously endearing.
Amy had also dried her hair, which was now cascading down round her shoulders in loose waves.
The whole look had a very visceral effect on Imogen.
She blinked a few times, trying to gather herself.
“You’re lovely,” she blurted out before immediately wincing. “And, um…dry.”
Amy didn’t look fooled by her cover-up, but she let Imogen away with it. “I am. Thank you.” She pointed over. “And those smell incredible. You toasted them too, which has just completed my life.” Warm sandwiches were a good shout after all. Hooray.
“Your life must be pretty good if all it’s been missing is my toasties,” Imogen replied lightly.
“It hasn’t been good this week,” Amy replied, not so lightly.
They looked at each other, and at that moment the lights started to flicker again.
But unlike when they had flickered downstairs, this time they went off and stayed off.
“Oh, no,” Imogen said into the pitch-black room once she realised that they weren’t going to come back on.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and flicked on the torch. “We’ve lost the electric.”
“Hey, at least you managed to make dinner first,” Amy replied optimistically, shining her own phone too. “We won’t go hungry.”
That was a silver lining. “True. Hold on a sec and I’ll make our conditions a bit better to eat it.
” Carrying her phone as a torch, Imogen fetched her candle-lighter and lit every candle she had on display around her apartment.
It was a good job she liked candles, there were quite a few—though they might end up with a weird mix of aromas from all the different scented ones.
When she lit the last one, she looked around satisfied with the result.
There was enough light to see where they were going at least. And to see each other—which was only a good thing when Amy was around.
Imogen was never going to not fancy her, was she?