Chapter 5
5
Nathan
“Irish, what a night, man!” Jerome slaps my back as we walk towards our hotel. Katy and Annie trail behind us, laughing about something I didn’t catch.
“I told you you’d love Dublin,” I grin.
“Temple Bar was sick! I can’t believe we ran into some new friends,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, what a coincidence…” I trail off, my thoughts elsewhere.
“You know what I noticed a lot tonight though?” He drops his voice low, so the girls can’t hear us.
I glance over, raising an eyebrow.
“Annie’s clearly into you, bro.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I sigh. “I know, I noticed it. But I’m not interested. She’s just a friend.”
“How come?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“She’s a nice girl, she’s just not what I’m looking for.” I shrug, as an image of Nataly comes into my mind .
My mind quickly scans through the night. When I saw Nataly tonight, I wasn’t even sure it was her. It looked like her, but we were a whole different country away. But I couldn’t risk letting the moment pass without saying something. She looked so confused at first, and when I mentioned Hillsong, her face lit up like a Christmas tree.
We ended up hanging out for the rest of the night, and I couldn’t tell if she was with Joel or not. I know him from church, though I wouldn’t call us friends. We’d done a guys’ trip to Barcelona, but that was more of a “we both know the same people” thing. It looked like she was with him, but I wasn’t sure. There were no signs, no public displays of affection. But there was something there, something I couldn’t quite read.
And then there was Annie, sending unmistakable “I like you” vibes. But I wasn’t about to send mixed signals or get caught in a triangle. She’s a good friend—and that’s all it’s ever been.
As the night went on, I started to piece it together. Nataly and Joel—they had something, but I couldn’t tell what. Nataly tried to make conversation, but I kept it short. With Joel hovering nearby, I didn’t want to stir up anything unnecessary. I played it safe. Gave nothing away.
She picked up on it, eventually stopped trying, and I let the moment pass. I didn’t get the green light, so I backed off.
“Alright, Irish, I see you. You’re a man who knows what he wants.” Jerome nods, impressed.
“It’s something I’ve always prayed about—especially with my dad. My job. My wife. It just hasn’t been right yet. But once I find her… I’ll go for it.”
“Wow, man. That’s awesome.” He claps my shoulder again as we veer around to grab our stuff from the car. We’re staying the night and grabbing breakfast before heading back to Belfast.
Back in my room, I set down my clothes and grab my toothbrush, heading for the bathroom.
I should feel good. Settled, even.
But I don’t. Because tonight, I got a small glimpse of Nataly and it’s enough to know I want more.
I finish brushing my teeth, throw on a t-shirt, and climb into bed.
For now, Nataly’s not mine to pursue. I want to know her—everything that makes her tick, what makes her smile, what makes her come alive. She has this energy that makes me want to lean in. But with Joel in the picture, I’m holding back. I’m not the guy who stirs drama or plays games.
I’ve been praying for my future wife for years. Does she fit what I’ve been praying for?
Well, at first glance she does. She’s beautiful—obviously. But more than that, she lights up a room . There’s something magnetic about her. If she’s the one God has for me, it’ll all fall into place. I trust Him with that.
The fact she and Joel weren’t acting like a couple tells me there’s something off about them, if they really are seeing each other. I’ll be ready to pursue her when the time is right, but right now just doesn’t feel like that time.
I turn off the lights, ready for sleep. I feel resolved about my decision.
I’m not chasing anything that’s not ready to come to me. I didn’t get the green light—so I’ll keep it cool. For now. But when the time comes, there won't be anything holding me back.
Nataly
Ugh. My stomach still felt bloated from last night when I woke up. The kebab was amazing, but I’m pretty sure I inhaled it faster than a socially acceptable human should.
I got ready for the day and packed up my things since we’re catching a flight back to London later. After grabbing breakfast with the group, we all split off to do some last-minute sightseeing around Dublin.
Joel and I ended up at Dublin Castle. It’s not your dramatic hilltop, moss-covered fairy tale type of castle—it’s smack in the middle of the city, wedged between modern buildings and city traffic. Not exactly what movies make you picture when someone says “Irish castle.”
We didn’t linger too long—just a walk around the outside—then wandered over to Trinity College. And now, we’re here. Grabbing coffee at a little café before heading towards the airport.
“It was interesting seeing the castle so tucked into the city,” I say as I stir my hot chocolate. “Not exactly the kind you see in the movies.”
“It’s definitely no Ashford Castle,” Joel replies.
“Ashford Castle?” I ask.
“Yeah, near the Galway coast. That one’s incredible.”
“Ohh, I’d love to see it then. Sounds like the kind of place that would make you feel like you’re inside P.S. I Love You .” I sigh a little, already picturing it. “I wish we’d had more time to check out some of the film locations. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Joel grins. “Well, if we ever visit, I’ll make sure you have your movie moment. I draw the line at singing in pubs, but I’ll do a brooding stare across a misty hill if that helps.”
I laugh, surprised. “You? Brooding?”
“I can brood. I just need the right lighting and about three layers of flannel.”
I chuckle.
Joel continues. “Though P.S. I Love You isn’t really my type of movie.”
“Oh really?” I tilt my head.
“Yeah, I’m not really into romance dramas,” he says, pouring more milk into his coffee.
I laugh, but it feels a little hollow. “Fair enough. We all have our own tastes.” I sip my drink. “Though P.S. I Love You is iconic.”
I smile softly, thinking of Gerry’s letters and that deep, aching kind of love.
“I’d much rather watch an action or comedy,” he adds. “Something that keeps the pace moving. Explosions. Car chases. Maybe a guy jumping off a building for no reason.”
I smirk. “So… basically the opposite of emotionally devastating Irish men writing love letters from the grave.”
“Exactly,” he says, like it’s a perfectly reasonable trade-off.
And that’s fair. It’s fine. I don’t need someone who’s obsessed with love stories. But it’s not just about movies.
It’s about whether he sees love the way I do.
I sip my drink, trying not to overanalyze—but my brain? It’s doing somersaults up there. Sometimes I just want to tell it, “Pipe down in there!”
He talks a little more about a podcast he’s been into lately, and I listen. But part of me is still stuck on the space between us. Not the physical kind—we’re sitting right next to each other—but the emotional kind. The quiet “something’s missing” kind.
And I can’t help but wonder:
Will we ever get past this stage?
Will we ever feel like more than two people just trying to make something work?
We finish our drinks, gather our things, and head toward the airport. The flight back to London is calling.
And while the world keeps moving around us—bustling streets, rolling suitcases, honking cars—I can’t stop thinking about that one small question echoing in my head:
Is this it?
Or could there still be more?