Page 14 of Never Date a Celebrity

“How did you guess?” Amelia asked.

The bartender took her time positioning the glass at an angle underneath the nozzle of the tap, concentration etched all over her face. “Oh, I don’t know. The American accent might be a slight giveaway.”

Amelia gasped playfully. “You noticed that?”

Another smile, but the bartender still didn’t take her eyes off the glass. “I don’t like to brag, but I have a keen ear for accents.” She pulled the handle all the way down and the liquid started to run down the inside of the glass. Then she stopped and released the handle when it was about three-quarters full. She set the glass on the polished countertop. “I’m supposed to let it settle before I fill it right up. It’s a whole thing.”

Amelia nodded. It wasn’t like she was in a rush. She hoped that their conversation would carry on beyond her drink being served.

“So,” the bartender said, studying Amelia with what looked like genuine interest. “Are you here for business or pleasure?”

“Mostly business, sadly,” Amelia replied. “It’s a place I wish I could spend more time enjoying.”

“There’s no shortage of places to see, that’s for sure.” The bartender bent down to study Amelia’s drink, then brought the glass back to the tap and started to fill it very slowly to the top—not much faster than a trickle. When it was full, she placed it on a disposable black bar mat and carefully slid it over to Amelia.

“It looks exactly like the picture on the sign,” Amelia said.

“Hmm, maybe. But the truth is in the taste,” the bartender said, her face dubious. She held out a hand indicating for Amelia to take a sip.

She did. Okay, truth be told, Amelia wasn’t a massive beer drinker, so she didn’t know how to give a proper critique. But the Guinness tasted smooth and refreshing, so that had to be good, right? “I think you lied to me the first time. This is great.”

The bartender beamed. “It is?”

“Absolutely. And I’ve never tried one before so it could be the best one in Ireland for all I know. You worried for nothing.” Amelia took another sip to prove her point.

“I’ve been known to do that sometimes. The worrying,” the bartender said. “Thanks for the confidence boost. I’m Imogen by the way.”

Amelia had been pondering how she could slip that question into their conversation. Imogen had saved her the trouble. “It’s great to meet you, Imogen. I’m…Amy,” she said after a beat. Not a lie—both her mom and sister called her Amy. Granted, no one else did. But she didn’t want to be Amelia Whitlock in this moment. Just being Amy was fine.

Imogen smiled. “A pleasure.” She leaned her elbows on the counter again and Amelia felt like doing a dance to celebrate her return to the same proximity. She didn’t of course. She had some chill.

“Do you not find it really dark in here, Amy?” Imogen asked.

It seemed like an odd question, but come to think of it, it was dark. “Now that you mention it, yes I do.”

Imogen grinned at her. “We do have mood lighting, but I’d say it must be pretty dim with those sunglasses on.”

“Ah.” Her disguise. Amelia touched them. “I forgot about them.” And now she was going to look silly if she didn’t take them off.

At least she had got to enjoy being just Amy, if only for a few short-lived minutes. With an internal sigh she yanked the glasses off like she was ripping off a Band-Aid, and braced herself for what would undoubtedly happen next.

“Wow.” Imogen blinked a few times.

“Yeah,” Amelia replied knowingly. Imogen would probably want an autograph or a selfie now. Which was fine. Amelia would happily do that for her. That was her life after all, not having normal conversations with beautiful women in bars.

“Sorry. It was probably a selfish reason to get you to take your sunglasses off, but I had made a bet with myself that your eyes would be blue. But I lost and they’re green. Which is a nice surprise, by the way.”

Hold up. “My eyes? You were wowing at my eyes? Nothing else?”

Imogen started to blush. “I mean, the rest of your face is lovely too, but I didn’t want to be so forward as to come right out and say so.”

Oh God. Now Imogen thought that Amelia was fishing for compliments. Did she really not know who she was? Not that Amelia was complaining, but it just rarely happened that way anymore. “I didn’t mean—” Amelia shook her head. “Sorry. My eyes. Green. Yes, they are. And yours are brown, which I noticed too. And really pretty.” Oh, hello, goof, there you are.

“Oh. Thanks,” Imogen said, her blush deepening. She fidgeted with one of the beer mats on the counter. “So, you said you were here for business. What do you do for work, Amy?”

The quick subject change wasn’t lost on Amelia—Imogen turning all shy and bashful was too adorable. Her question also highlighted that Imogen really did not recognise her and Amelia felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It had been a long time since she’d just been a girl in a bar. She liked the feeling. Though losing the shades and now the job question—hiding who she was wasn’t easy. Amelia didn’t want to outright lie to Imogen, but she could remain vague. “Have you heard about the movie being filmed here?”

Imogen visibly tensed for some reason. “Oh, the bridesmaid one you mean?”