Page 20 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

Nataly: That’s a good question. Well the story line is just different from all the others and interesting, the romance is great, action's great, actors are great, overall it's just pretty awesome.

She adds emojis. Something about that makes me smirk. She texts like she talks—full of energy.

Nataly: Also, Canada Water happens to be 15 minutes from where I live.

Interesting.

Me: That’s a good reason. So this is your favourite movie of all time? And your favourite hobby is watching movies?

We keep talking, messages bouncing back and forth, her enthusiasm pouring through even over text. She tells me about her unlimited cinema card like it’s a prized possession. I tell her she sounds like she practicallylivesthere. She doesn’t deny it.

The conversation is easy. But there’s something else. Something underneath it.

It’s getting close to midnight now. Normally, I’d be asleep by now. But sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.

I hesitate for a second before typing out my next message.

Me: What’s your number? Maybe I’ll give you a call if I’m ever out East.

It’s not the smoothest line in the world, but it does the job.

Three dots appear. Typing.

Then her reply pops up.

Her number appears.

I save it, my finger hovering over the screen for a second longer than necessary.

Then I lean my head back, exhaling.

I should sleep. But my mind is still replaying her smile, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s excited, the way she talks with her hands.

What will tomorrow bring?

I don’t know yet. But something tells me, I’m just beginning to figure it out.

Nataly

Nathan asked me for my number. He was so subtle. Okay, maybe subtle isn’t the right word.

He wassmooth.

He asked if he could have my number if he ‘was ever over East’ (London, of course). It was one of those moments where I felt my brain short-circuit just a little, because there was this tiny flicker of… something. A shift in the air. A nearly imperceptible pause in my heartbeat. But I told myself it was just friendliness. A perfectly normal, casual, no-big-deal flicker.

As we were walking toward the bus that night, he mentioned where he lived.

“I live in West Kensington. It’s a great spot,” he said, shrugging.

“Kensington?You live inKensington?” I said, eyes wide. “Wow, fancy.”

He laughed. “My company pays for it. It’s a great spot.”

“A great spot?” I laughed. “I’d have to sell a kidney to live there.”

“They’re based out of Northern Ireland,” he added, smiling. “It just worked out.”

Kensington is, you know,nice. As in, the kind of nice where I imagine people wear expensive house slippers and casually own property in France.

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