Page 17 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

There’s no reason Nathan and I can’tjustbe friends.

I finish putting my mascara on, rush to the bathroom stall, and of course—the mascara goes straight into the toilet. Because why not? At this point, I half expect the toilet to start swirling ominously and drag my entire bag in after it. Honestly, it would be a fitting end to the day I’m having. How does this happen to me?! I mean, I know I’m clumsy, but COME ON! I can’t catch a break today.

“NOOO!” I wail.

The bathroom door swings open, and Joy pokes her head in. “What did you do now?”

“My mascara. The toilet. They are now one.”

Joy bursts out laughing. “Girl, your life is a sitcom.”

I hear N’Sync in the back of my mind singing, “bye, bye, bye” to my mascara. Or like it’s that Friends episode where they’re all at Ross & Rachel’s standing over the crib, all waving goodbye to Emma—but instead it’s my mascara. I don’t even know how I’m going to get it out of there. The thought of fishing it out makes me feel like I would need to bathe myself immediately and for the rest of eternity. But maybe a toilet brush?! That probably won’t grip it but maybe it’ll get it out. I settle on that. It works.

“I’m aware,” I grumble as I use the toilet brush to get it out. “Can you please tell me I don’t look like a disaster?” I ask, retrieving the sad, soggy tube with the least contact humanly possible.

Joy eyes me. “Girl, you look great. Even though, yes, you’ve clearly been crying today. But Nathan was totally checking you out, so I don’t think he cared.”

My stomach flips. “He was not.”

“Oh, he so was. I saw the way he looked at you. And you,” she wags a finger, “are in trouble.” She knows the situation between Joel and I and has never been totally a fan of the fact we’re not crazy in love.

“Joy, stop.” I say as I scrub my hands like a surgeon.

She shrugs as I look at her through the mirror. “Hey, I’m just saying… I think I hear some fireworks going off.”

Team night’s over, and it's time to head home. As I make my way to the door, I catch sight of him. Nathan. He’s standing near the exit, almost like he's waiting for something, or maybe someone.

The second he sees me, he straightens up, his eyes lockingonto mine, and suddenly he’s walking toward me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, are you catching the bus to Canada Water?” he asks, voice low, casual.

“Yeah we are!” I reply for Joy and me. My stomach apparently took gymnastics classes when it was younger because the somersaults it’s doing should win the Olympic gold medal right about now.

“Great, I’ll walk with you,” he replies so casually, as if we’re new friends. And maybe that’s exactly what we are.

We fall into step beside each other, strolling along the sidewalk from the Warehouse to the bus stop.

“So, Nataly, how long have you been in London?”

I glance over, and he’s looking straight at me. Not at the pavement. Not at the buildings.At me.Like he doesn’t need to see where he’s going—like watching me is the point.

If I tried that, I’d one hundred percent walk into a lamppost.

“Sorry, what?” I blink, realizing I completely missed his question.

His accent is stilloccasionallyconfusing to me. I’ve only ever heard it once before. One of my old managers at Hollister was from Belfast. The first time she spoke, I thought she was American because she rolled her "r"s. But after a few seconds, I realized,nope, definitely not.

Nathan just said my name, and I may not have totally understood the rest of his sentence, but Ididcatch that. And Ilovehow he says it. The way he rolls the ‘t’ feels like a little piece of home—how my name sounded growing up in America.

And paired with his deep voice? Oh my.

I have a thing for deep voices. It’s something I definitely inherited from my mom. She always said that if she was going to listen to a man talk for the rest of her life, he better have a voice that makes her melt. I didn’t realize until recently that this was something Ilovetoo. And my name on his lips makes me melt inwardly. In a friendlyway.

Friendly.

FRIENDLY.

Must repeat until I believe it.

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