Page 4 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

I’ve dated a few girls from church since moving to London. I’m always drawn to dark-haired girls. If they’re from a different country, even better. There’s something about people who leave home for an adventure. I get that mindset. I grew up in a small town outside Belfast, and I spent a lot of time praying for two things: my job and my wife.

The job part’s sorted for now. I’m a project manager for a marble company, which isn’t exactly my dream, but it opened the door to travel and adventure, and that’s enough for me at this stage of life. I like a bit of risk, a bit of movement. Sitting still never suited me. But I’m open to doing something else in the future if I find something that lights me up.

The wife part? Still working on that one. I’ve gone on dates here in London, sure, but nothing’s really clicked. There’s one girl, Dee, that I’ve been interested in. She’s Latina, and we’ve gone back and forth a bit. But she’s given me mixed signals, and I’m not the kind of guy who chases something that’s not moving naturally. I’m decisive. I’m holding out for something more. I know what I want, and when something’s right, you don’t have to keep guessing.

Which is part of the reason my attention keeps scanning the room. Because when I saw that video, my interest sparked. And when something sparks, I pay attention. Because she’s making me question why I have ever settled for anything less with anyone else.

Jerome leans against the bar, elbow propped, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s a casting director. Our friends have broken off into different conversations.

“Got a New Year’s resolution yet? Like maybe turning those big guns intomassiveArnold Schwarzenegger guns?” he flexes a bicep with mockseriousness.

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not usually one for resolutions...” I trail off, distracted.

I’m mid-sentence when I spot her.

She’s dressed as Sandy. Black leggings, off-the-shoulder top, heels. Her long dark hair moves when she laughs. She’s got this permanent kind of smile, the kind of joy that’s obvious without her having to say a word. She gives whoever she’s talking to undivided attention. She looks like the kind of person who is all in. Just watching her makes my own mouth twitch up into a rare, easy smile.

Thankfully, Jerome doesn’t even notice my hesitation enough to ask me about it, as he’s busy looking around. “EYYY that’s my jam! Yo, Irish, let’s get on the dance floor!” Jerome slaps his hand on my back, moving me towards the dance floor.

I laugh. “I’m not sure the dance floor is ready for you.”

“I think it’s been waiting for me too long, bro!”

The night moves fast. There’s the music, the countdown energy, the endless catching up with people I haven’t seen in weeks. And every time I think I’ll head over and introduce myself, she’s already deep in conversation with someone else, and I’m not one to interrupt.

So the night slips away, and the chance never comes.

Two weeks later, I’m making my way out of the Dominion Theatre after our evening church service to All Bar One, motorbike jacket in my hand. I still haven’t met her.

But I’m not the type to dwell. If she’s someone I’m meant to know, the opportunity will come—and when it does, I’ll be ready.

I walk in and spot one of my friends, Katy, sitting at a table. Because the Dominion isn’t actuallyourchurch, but a fully functioning West End theatre, there’s nowhere inside to hang out after the service. So, like clockwork, a bunch of us (especially those of us inVelocity, the 25+ group) spill out into the streets of London,looking for somewhere warm to catch up. The January cold has definitely seeped in.

All Bar One is just around the corner—right off Oxford Street—and tonight, like most nights, it’s buzzing.

The place is already filling up with the post-service crowd. I toss my jacket over the back of a chair and slide into the seat across from Katy.

“Nathan! Perfect timing,” she says. “I wanted to go over our Belfast trip. But first…”

She pauses, her smirk already forming.

“Let’s backtrack and talk about that girl.”

I groan under my breath. I know exactly who she means.

Katy leans forward, eyes sparkling. “I caught you looking at her a few times at the party. You never did spill the tea. So, spill it now.”

“There’s really not much to say,” I reply with a shrug, keeping my tone as casual as possible.

Katy raises a brow. “Just because you’re not saying much doesn’t mean there’s notmuchto say.”

I grunt.

She laughs. She knows she’s right.

I haven’t been able to get that girl out of my head since New Year’s Eve. I don’t know much about her—barely anything, really. I don’t even know if she’s dating someone. Yet there’s something about her I can’t quite shake. Maybe it’s just curiosity. Maybe it’s something more. I know the way she lit up the room without even trying. The way she was always smiling—this big, open, genuine kind of smile that felt like an invitation.

“She just… intrigued me,” I admit, finally giving Katy something. “She gives off this vibe, like she’s easy to talk to. Outgoing. Just warm, you know?”

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