Page 70 of Never Date a Celebrity

“Yeah. And I’m not even sure if you should have told me because it’s against the rules, but I’m glad that you did because you’re adorable and it’s made me feel all giddy and fuzzy inside.”

Amy chuckled. “Maybe it’s okay that I told you because I’ve already got my wish. They can’t un-grant it. It’s not like I’ll wake up in the morning and forget I ever met you.” She paused. “I hope not anyway.”

“See? If you’d stuck to the rules and not told me, you wouldn’t have to worry about that right now.”

“Fine,” Amy conceded. “You stick to the rules. Don’t be a screw-up like me.” She gave Imogen an earnest look. “If I do forget, will you come and find me and tell me who you are?”

Imogen laughed that she was genuinely worried about this. “Yes, I’ll come and throw myself at a Hollywood actress who has no idea who I am.”

“I’d still fall for you all over again.”

Imogen felt herself go a bit melty inside. “Okay, that was smooth.” Amy somehow managed to say phenomenal things like that right off the cuff. This openly-in-love thing was kind of spectacular. “Alas, I’d probably end up getting carried away by big, burly security officers before I could even speak to you.”

“Just ask for Steve. He knows who you are—unless he has his memory wiped too.”

Imogen narrowed her eyes. “Do I want to know how Steve knows who I am?”

Amy grimaced. “Probably not, no.”

When she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising that Amy had security people. Bodyguards were common for celebrities. It was just another occupational hazard, wasn’t it? “Just tell me that he doesn’t hide in my wardrobe at night or anything?”

“No. He prefers it under the bed,” Amy said with a straight face.

Imogen stared at her until she broke.

“I’m kidding.” She nudged Imogen with her hip. “Poor Steve’s been ditched lately. He only keeps an eye on things when I’m out in public.”

“Thank God for that.” Although, Imogen did start to wonder if it meant that Steve had been there on their first date. She nearly asked, then thought better of it. Some things were best left unanswered.

They rounded the corner to the front of the pub and Imogen pulled a couple of coins out of her pocket. Doubling up couldn’t hurt, right? “Are you supposed to throw backwards?” She could remember reading that somewhere.

“I’m not sure.” Amy’s eyes widened. “Is that a thing? I didn’t do that.”

Imogen nearly burst out laughing at her near panic. Like somehow, she’d wished wrong. “I’ll do mine the same way as you did if it would make you feel better. I’m sure it isn’t important.”

Imogen stepped forward, closed her eyes, and wished for the one thing she truly hoped the future had in store for her. She kept her eyes shut for a few seconds after, just to go over the details. There was no point in wishing willy-nilly. Then she heard the Wishing Well door swing open and voices spilling outside.

When she looked around, a group of three young women were walking out, laughing and joking. Locals—Imogen recognised their faces. They had been in the Wishing Well once or twice. One of them drank straight vodka, which was incredible to her, because Jesus.

They all looked over toward Imogen and Amy and froze. Their expressions all changed at once—it was quite something. “Oh my God. You’re Amelia Whitlock!”

Imogen balked.

Amy didn’t. Smooth as can be, she stepped forward and met the women in their quickening approach, high heels click-clacking all over the uneven pavement. “I am. Hey, great to meet you.” She smiled at them like the pleasure was all hers rather than the other way around.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe Amelia Whitlock is standing in the middle of Ballyluck. What are the fucking chances?” one of the women said. “I follow you on all your socials.”

“You’re here for that film, aren’t you?” another asked. “I’ve seen everything you’ve ever been in.”

The third one just stood there staring. Imogen didn’t think she had blinked once—maybe it was the vodka.

“Thanks so much, you guys. Yes, I am—we’re filming nearby. And I happen to love this bar.” Amy gestured toward the Wishing Well.

Imogen felt herself tense up. She could imagine the headlines tomorrow if Little Miss Vodka and friends got busy on their socials. Amelia Whitlock Frequents Ballyluck Pub. Imogen was no writer, but that would be the gist.

Suddenly, a phone was flung in her direction. “Here, missus, will you take our photo?”

The women didn’t even wait for an answer before they all huddled around Amy, all fighting to see who could get closest. Amy shot Imogen an apologetic look before seamlessly slipping into a beaming smile.