London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

Chapter 1

1

Nataly

New Year’s Eve, 2014, London

I don’t know if he’s “the one.” He doesn’t fit my list entirely … which should make this an easy no. But… what if he is?

Does he make my heart race? Not really. So this should be simple. On paper, it is . But in real life? Not so much. And WHY have most of the guys I’ve dated had names starting with the letter J? Not that I’m a serial dater (not that many guys), but enough to know J-named guys have been a disaster for my love life.

I may be only twenty, but I’ve always known I don’t want to mess around. I want to be married. And I don’t want just any love. I want that can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff. Mary-Kate and Ashley knew what they were talking about in It Takes Two . And once, I thought I’d found it.

“I can literally hear your brain working from across the room,” my friend Joy says, one eyebrow raised as she applies her eyeliner. We’ve known each other since school down in Bournemouth—a little seaside town on the coast of England—and moved to London together for university.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and we’re getting ready to go out. I’ve been curling my hair while silently spiraling.

I pause, curling iron still in hand. “How can you tell?”

She grins, tugging the corner of her mouth up. “You? Quiet for anything more than a minute?”

I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Joy, I am wounded.”

She laughs as she puts on her mascara. “Come on, what’s running through that pink-sparkle brain of yours?”

I sigh, letting my curling iron rest for a second. “I’m just thinking about Joel. And… my ex.”

His name started with J and ended in disappointment.

The thing is, it didn’t start out that way. We met at work. He was confident and charming, and he pursued me. When he paid attention to me, it felt like the sun was shining directly on my face. He had this smile—mischief and a strong jawline—and when he said my name, it made me feel… seen. I fell hard.

It wasn’t just the way he made me laugh, though that was part of it. Or the way he kissed me and treated me like I was important to him. It was the way he made me believe we were something special. We’d text for hours, talking about anything and everything.

Joy tilts her head. “What about your ex?”

“I’m sure you remember I couldn’t shut up about my heart being broken when he ended things.”

“I remember,” she says, gently. “You took it really hard.”

I let out a breath. “Yeah. I think I spent more time crying into my pillow than talking for a week.” I grab my hairbrush and run it through the bottom of my curls, watching them bounce back.

I ignored the warning signs. The way he pulled back when things got serious. The way he never liked me talking about my faith. I wanted to believe we could work through it. I wanted to believe he thought I was enough for him. That love would be enough.

It wasn’t.

When it came down to it, Jesus got in the way of him “getting some” and he called it quits. Just like that. Three months of falling for him, and it ended in one conversation where he told me he "just thought I was too good for him.”

Jesus and I are a package deal. And apparently, that was one person too many for him.

This was the pattern of my dating life.

The worst part? I actually considered not waiting for marriage with him. I let myself think maybe I was being too rigid. That maybe if I compromised, I wouldn’t lose him. That maybe he really could love me. The outrage . But I was infatuated. He made my breath catch and my knees go weak, and a girl can get a little lost in the romance of it all.

“Now that I look back, I think I probably liked the idea of him more than I actually liked him ,” I say. “I even saw a guy a couple of months ago when I was at work who made me double take. I thought it was him, but it wasn’t. My heart still beat like crazy... but I realized I didn’t want him back.”

Joy scrunches her nose. “Girl, we all knew he wasn’t right for you.”

When I really think about it, what did we even have in common? Sure, we had chemistry—the kind that makes your heart race and your palms sweat—but when it came down to values, we couldn’t have been more different. He wanted the physical stuff to come first. I wanted a foundation built on faith and trust. And while I was busy dreaming of our future, he was busy finding reasons why we wouldn’t work.

And yet… I still cried when it ended. I still felt that hollow ache in my chest when his name popped up on my phone for the last time. Because when you invest your heart in someone—even someone who doesn’t deserve it—it hurts when they walk away.

But here’s what I don’t talk about much: the gnawing guilt that I even thought about compromising my values for a boy who wouldn’t have done the same for me. I remember sitting alone in my room after that breakup, wondering if I was the one being unreasonable. Maybe I was too much of a goodie-two-shoes. Too rigid, too demanding. Maybe asking for a man who shared my faith and wanted to wait wasn’t just rare; maybe it was impossible.

But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. I knew God wouldn’t put those convictions in my heart just to leave me empty-handed. And I knew settling for a love that required me to be less of myself wasn’t the kind of love I wanted.

Still… the disappointment stayed. The fear stayed.

“I loved the way he made me feel. The aching after he ended things was hard,” I go on. “I remember months later making myself write a list of what I wanted in a man. And he didn’t fit all of them. He barely fit half of them.”

Joy laughs, reaching for her lip gloss. “I think you were just blinded by his muscles.”

I laugh too. “Girl, did you see them though? I think I drooled. Just a little. Or a lot.”

“And what does he have to do with Joel?” She eyes me as she puts down her lip gloss.

I grab my hairbrush, brushing through the ends of my curls. “I’m just thinking about the contrast between the two. Joel and I are so new right now.”

Maybe that’s part of why I’m here now, with another J. Because Joel checks at least one of the most important boxes: he loves Jesus. And after everything I’ve been through, that feels like enough of a reason to give this a shot.

He doesn’t make my knees weak, but he’s Christian. It’s the main reason I’ve allowed myself to explore more with Joel. After dating so many guys (again, not THAT many, I know that makes me sound like I date a new guy every week, but more than 2 or 3 is many in my books) that just couldn’t understand the fact that my faith is important to me, it’s refreshing to finally date someone that understands my faith. I’m finally understood in that and not feeling completely ostracized. (Which also makes me think of ostriches, ironically—alone, head in the sand. Same vibe.)

He has some other good traits, too. He’s charming with his words. And we’re having fun. It’s casual at the moment. But even that word, casual, feels off. Because I’ve never been a casual kind of girl. I’m all in or all out, and I’m not sure where I stand with him. The relationship started off with mixed signals. Lots of flirting, then pulling back. But my always-wanting-to-be-liked nature wanted to win him over.

I get it. It sounds ridiculous. Me, a hopeless romantic, not pursued by a man. Eventually—with a lot of internal conflict and back-and-forth from him may I add—he decided he did like me, and here we are. Brand new. I know, it really does sound like every romcom trope: Boy meets girl. Boy never knows if he really likes her. Boy and girl date. I roll my eyes at the thought.

I head quickly into the bathroom, bringing my clothes in with me to change for tonight’s outfit.

Which brings us to tonight: New Year’s Eve at church. Big Grease-themed bash. (I’ve never seen the movie, don’t judge.) I won the ￡35 ticket in an Instagram competition because I’m an overachiever who did two different 50s-themed outfits. And I had to do a video introducing myself as the winner, which got passed around our church’s WhatsApp group. Casual.

I’m going dressed as Sandy: black leggings, off-the-shoulder top, heels. My long brown hair has some volume when we visit other countries or go back home to Atlanta, but London’s humidity is its nemesis. I’ve settled for semi-straight hair with curled ends tonight.

“I guess it’s different with Joel,” I say from behind the bathroom door, pausing between grunts as I wrestle with my leggings. “It’s nothing like it was with my ex. And honestly? That’s already a big deal, considering my track record. There’s no massive spark, no fireworks… just kindling. A slow burn.”

I’m new to London, and finding meaningful friendships in a big church takes effort. I went to a handful of connect groups before landing in Joel’s—which is how we met.

“We met at a connect group… not exactly a romcom meet-cute, but…” I trail off as I pull my top over my head.

I grew up hearing my parents' incredible love story, and I want something like that. Romantic comedies are basically my personality. My parents’ story had a side of telenovela so we’ll just skip the drama and stick with the romcom. But a meet-cute? I’ve always dreamed of that. You know—the guy and the girl reach for the same book in a tiny bookstore and their hands brush, and there’s instant chemistry. Or maybe, they meet on a plane because they’re sitting next to each other and they’re headed different directions but end up staying in touch and eventually get married?

I could spin off a lot of different meet-cute scenarios. Sparks flying everywhere. I told you, romantic comedies are my personality. And meeting at a connect group? Not exactly the stuff of movies.

But, he’s different. So that’s enough for now.

I emerge, tugging my top into place. “He’s not just different from my ex,” I say, tilting my head. “He’s different from every guy I’ve dated. Sort of the exact opposite… which could be a good thing?”

Joy slips on her pink satin jacket, one of the Pink Ladies for tonight’s theme, and glances at me in the mirror. “I’ve always thought you wanted a spark, though.”

It may not sound like something out of a romcom and everything I’ve ever dreamed of, but Joel’s nice . We have a good time together whenever we’re hanging out. And maybe, the fact that we don’t have a sizzling spark means my heart is safe. That maybe he won’t break my heart like the other guys did because I haven’t fallen too deep, too fast. I always got my heart way too invested in them and they would leave me feeling hurt.

More than anything, I want a man who loves God more than he loves and wants my body. I’ve made some… questionable ch oices in the past. Too many guys didn’t want me without the physical stuff, and I kept hoping they’d change. Spoiler: they didn’t.

I grew up watching Mandy Moore in A Walk To Remember , swooning over how romantic it was that Landon Carter was all bad boy-turned-husband-of-the-year because of her. I have so many happy sighs and sad tears over that movie. I wanted to be the girl who made a guy change. To love me so much for who I am that it inspired him to want to wait for me. That I was worth waiting for. There really weren’t any wonderful guys down in Bournemouth for me. I also did like the bad boy image a little too much. I’m a goodie two-shoes that follows the rules, but finding a guy who makes me take risks? The right risks? I love that.

And I clearly got that side of the equation wrong. Because I can’t change any man. But I’ve learned from my mistakes now. I know now that I don’t need to change anyone. I just need to wait for the right person.

“I know,” I admit, slipping on my heels. “But maybe it’s something that grows? Maybe I’ll get the spark later?” I grab my lipstick and pause, the uncertainty lingering. “I like him. He’s a nice guy. We laugh a lot. I think I just want to wait it out and see.”

Joy nods thoughtfully. “Since you two aren’t even official yet, taking it slow sounds like a good idea.”

Speaking of slow…

“Do you think he’s gonna try and kiss me at midnight?”

Are we going to go public? Am I ready for that?

Joy raises an eyebrow. “Would you let him?”

I have two flaws (okay, more than two, but let’s focus): 1) I’m terrible at making decisions, and 2) I want everyone to like me. The thought of hurting someone makes me sick. I have a golden retriever personality. If you walk through the door, I want to immediately tackle you with love and sunshine. Is that a little strong? Maybe. But it’s just who I am. Conflict? Hard pass. Unless it’s with my parents—we lay it all out, especially at the dinner table. But they’re my parents. They love me.

“I guess we’ll see…” I trail off.

I’m not sure what tonight will look like. I’ll just go with the flow.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Joy says, doing a final spin in the mirror.

“You look amazing,” I tell her, standing to grab my bag. “Let’s go.”

Before we reach the door, she reaches for my arm. “Just promise me one thing?”

I glance up.

“Don’t stay with someone just because they’re safe. You need more than that.”

Her words linger longer than I expect.

And now, as my inner debate team gears up for another round—one side chanting, “Give him a shot! See where this goes!” while the other whispers, “You know this doesn’t feel like World Series love…” —I grab my coat and step out into the night, bracing for whatever it might bring.