Page 44 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

“I think we need to break up.”

The words fall between us like a stone. Heavy. I brace myself.

“Why?” he asks, voice even but unreadable. No anger. No sadness. Just… blank. It throws me.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, gentling my tone. “I really hate doing this. You’re great, and you’re easy to talk to, we’ve always gotten on well. But I just don’t see this heading into marriage. I want more. I want to be absolutely crazy in love and head over heels, and I just don’t think that this it. And really, I don’t think this is it for you either. I think we both deserve more, to be in love with someone.”

Still, nothing from him. Not really. A flicker of something, maybe—disappointment? Confusion?

He leans in slightly. His voice drops, slower. “But we could be good together. Weare, aren’t we? Just… give it time.”

And for a split second, doubt slams into me.

Am I making a mistake? He’s safe. He’s stable. We never fight. What if this is wrong?

What if I shouldn’t be breaking up with him right now?

I’m always terrifiedof making the wrong decision.

But then I picture Nathan and all of the ways he’s made it clear I’m somebody worth waiting for.

And just like that, I know.

“Joel, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

His shoulders tense, like he’s still not ready to accept it. But then he lets out a slow breath and leans back.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask, trying to shift the weight of the conversation.

He hesitates. “Oh, nothing really…” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes flicking away. For a second, something passes over his face—guilt? Regret? If we weren’t in the middle of a breakup, I might have pressed. But I don’t. Not yet.

“But Nataly, I know we haven’t been crazy in love with each other. To be honest, you were never my type to start off with…” he continues.

My eyebrow shoots up. Where’s he going with this?

He lets out a small laugh. “What I mean to say is, I think we could get there. You’re awesome. We always have fun. Sometimes love takes time, right?”

I’ve spent too long waiting for the kind of love that doesn’t need convincing. The kind that doesn’t feel like settling. The kind that doesn’t start withyou’re not my type.

“I know we’ve had good moments,” I say softly, “but I’ve worked hard to feel at peace about this. I don’t want to be someone who stays because it’s safe or easy. I want you to find someone you’ll fall in love with, and who’s crazy about you.”

He doesn’t argue again. Not really.

I stand slowly, grabbing my bag. My heart aches a little. Not because I want to stay, but because goodbyes are always heavy, even when they’re right.

I lean in for a hug—because I’m still me—and whisper, “I’m wishing you all the best.”

He stays seated. I walk away.

Outside, the air feels sharper, cleaner somehow. I let out abreath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and press my fingers to my temple.

I actually did it. I faced the thing I’d been dreading. My heart didn’t stop beating. The world didn’t fall apart. I did the hard thing, scared. And yet…

As I walk down the street, a single thought chases me like a shadow.

What if, in all my second-guessing, I let the one guy who sees me—really sees me—slip through my fingers?

19

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