Chapter 14
14
Nathan
I shouldn’t have been so rude to Nataly. She was walking down the path outside Wembley SSE Arena, and the second I saw her, I felt it—like some kind of internal pull .
I’m pretty sure I have a Nataly radar now. I can pick her out of a crowd of thousands.
She was glowing, her hair flowing in the wind, sleek and straight. It caught me off guard. She almost always wears it curly, and I’ve gotten used to the way it bounces when she moves, the way it matches her energy: light, effortless, alive . But tonight, she looked different.
I wanted to run my fingers through it.
She smiled when she saw me. Full-on, beaming.
When is she not smiling?
And what did I do? I barely muttered a “hey” before walking right past her. Like she wasn’t the one person I’ve been thinking about all week.
The streets outside the arena are packed with people moving toward the train station after the final session. Women in groups, chatting, their laughter spilling into the cool night air. Music is faintly humming from inside, the bass thrumming beneath my feet. The energy is electric, but I feel detached from it, like I’m moving through fog. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. I’ve been serving on guest relations, so I’ve been driving some of our guests around all day long. I’ve been driving since 7am, and it’s now 9pm and I’ve just finished my last lift.
I exhale hard, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
I should have said something to her. Anything other than that cold, clipped ‘hey’. But I didn’t. Because I haven’t texted her this week.
I’ve been texting her constantly these past few weeks. Finding excuses. Searching for reasons to keep her talking. And every single time my phone lit up with her name, I felt this stupid, uncontrollable smile take over my face.
Until last Saturday. Until Jerome told me. We were at GBK, just a group of us guys, laughing too loudly over burgers and shakes. My phone buzzed on the table.
Nataly. I didn’t even think before smiling.
Jerome caught it immediately. "Ey yo, Irish, who’s got you smiling like that?” And I see a smirk on his face.
I shrugged, keeping my cool. "It’s nothing. Just this girl I’ve been chatting with.”
Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Nah, nah, bro you don’t get that look over ‘just a girl.’ Show me.”
“It’s Nataly, if you remember her?” I pulled up her WhatsApp photo, turning my phone toward him. The second he saw it, his whole expression shifted. His brows furrowed. His mouth pressed into a thin line.
Something was wrong.
"Bro…" He hesitated. Jerome never hesitates. "I’m sorry to tell you, but she’s taken.”
My stomach dropped. “What?"
"Yeah. Remember Joel? The guy we went to Barcelona with? She’s dating him." His voice was cautious, like he didn’t want to say it, like he already knew how much it would gut me.
I stared at him. "She hasn’t told me about him." The words felt hollow, like if I said them enough times, they’d make sense. "Why hasn’t she said anything?” I knew there was something going on between them in Dublin, I could sense it. But it’s been months, and we have been texting a lot recently. I thought maybe whatever was going on between them was done by now. Come to think of it, it makes sense that it’s normally me texting her first . But I can tell, she’s not been trying to brush me off. I would’ve gotten the hint. But she’s always replying like she wants the conversation to carry on.
Jerome sighed. "I don’t know, bro. All I know is that they don’t look all lovey-dovey. I don’t know what’s going on there, but… you probably have a shot. You might just have to wait it out.”
Wait it out.
I barely spoke the rest of the night. I let my conversation with Nataly fizzle out for the first time ever. And I haven’t texted her since.
Now, standing here in the cool night air, gripping my van keys too tightly, my mind is working. She didn’t tell me about Joel. Why?
I keep replaying our conversations over the past few weeks, searching for clues.
A couple weeks ago:
Nataly: I love all of the seasons. If I’d have to choose, it would be summer. I’m a summer girl at heart. But I do love all the things associated with autumn. And spring! The cherry blossoms! And CHRISTMAS. I LOVE Christmas! I can’t get enough of Christmas. I want to celebrate before December even starts.
Me: Growing up in Northern Ireland, I have to say I’m more of a fan of summer…
Nataly: Lol I’m sure you would’ve had a lot of rainy days inside in all the other seasons. But at least you could’ve enjoyed all the hot chocolate. And all the cinnamon rolls over the autumn!
Me: Ew cinnamon rolls
Nataly: EW?! EW?! Don’t tell me you don’t like cinnamon rolls Nathan. That is unheard of. Ooey, gooey, Cinnabon cinnamon rolls covered in cream cheese frosting. The way they melt as you pull them apart. It’s basically the only thing you can have on an autumn day.
Me: Sorry to disappoint, Nataly. I once had a bad experience with cinnamon, and I now can’t stand it.
Nataly: I’m sad on your behalf. You’re missing out on the world’s greatest autumn delight. You’re also not going to get away with not telling me what this bad experience was?!
Me: I’m not sure I’m convinced. Something I’ll have to let you wait and listen to in person ;)
Nataly: Ugh stop, I want to know now!
Me: Next time
That was a real conversation. Playful. Easy. Honest. It wasn’t just banter—it felt like something more. Real. The kind you remember at 1 a.m. when you’re wondering if you’re the only one who felt it. So why didn’t she mention she had a boyfriend? And why do I feel like she’s hiding something?
I run a hand through my hair, frustration simmering under my skin. The memory twists something deep in my chest. I tighten my jaw, drumming my fingers restlessly on the gearshift as I speed through the nearly empty streets.
I could just call her right now. Ask her why she never told me about Joel.
But I don’t. Instead, I pull up to my flat, kill the engine, and sit in the quiet.
My phone is burning a hole in my pocket. I yank it out, scrolling to her name in my messages.
Me: Hey.
I should talk to her. I should ask. I’m just going to have to bring it up.
Like, “Hey, I heard you have a boyfriend, so why are we talking every day like we could be something more?”
No. That sounds accusatory. That’s not me. But I need to know.
My thumb hovers over the send button. It would open the door. It would mean confronting whatever this thing is between us. What I feel for her. Which, again, I thought I had made pretty clear even if I hadn’t said it outright.
I clench my jaw and press backspace .
Because the way she smiled at me earlier—like she was genuinely happy to see me—tells me that whatever is going on between her and Joel?
It’s not love. I know what love looks like, and it’s not that. My stomach clenches at the thought. I’m not letting her go without a fight.