Page 11 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

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 breakfastwith 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 insideP.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. “ThoughP.S. I Love Youisn’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. “ThoughP.S. I Love Youisiconic.”

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?

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