Page 55 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

I start to unwrap it, attempting to do so gracefully. Spoiler alert: I fail. If there were a contest for theworstgift un-wrapper, I’d take home the gold.

“Wow,” he says, watching me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone unwrap a gift like that before,” he says, laughing as he continues to watch me.

“Hey! I pride myself on being the worst gift un-wrapper, thank you very much.” I laugh, shaking my head as I finally manage to get inside.

Inside the box is a small dolphin, covered in a mosaic of tiny, colorful tiles.

I gasp. “It’s beautiful.” My fingers run over the smooth surface, taking in every detail. “Iloveit. Thank you.” And Idolove it. Because he remembered. From one of our conversations—some offhand comment about how much I love dolphins. He was listening. He pays attention to the little things.

Before I can think twice, I throw my arms around his neck.

And that’s when everything changes. The air shifts. I lower my hands, my cheek now resting against his shoulder, and suddenly, every nerve in my body is waiting. Hoping.

Is he going to tilt my head up and kiss me? Isthisgoing to be the moment?

My veins feel like they’re going to combust. My breath is trapped somewhere in my chest, held hostage by anticipation. His hands find my shoulders, warm and steady, but he hesitates.

And then…

He sighs. Almost inaudibly. Like I wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says.

I deflate, my heart dropping a fraction. Why hasn’t he kissed me yet? I was giving himallthe signs. I even angled my face just slightly, just enough that if he wanted to grab me and kiss me senseless, I wouldn’t have stopped him.

But alas, it is not this moment.Inward sigh.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he continues, moving toward the kitchen. “My gran used to make pasta for me, so I thought I’d cook something similar. Had to add bacon and extra cheese, obviously.” His lips curve into a mischievous smile.

My heart does an entirely new set of flips.

There are plenty of girls who have no problem making the first move. And right now, Icouldbe one of them.

But I don’t want to be. I wanthimto do it.

“It sounds delicious,” I reply, glancing—very deliberately—at his lips before flicking my gaze back to his.

His eyes darken, just for a second. A flicker. Barely there. But Iseeit.

We eat dinner, and he tells me about his trip to Barcelona. The beach, the food, the places they explored. I love how he talks about it, how he doesn’t just stay in one place butexperiencesthings.

“What was your favorite part about Barcelona?” I ask.

“It’s pretty cool that it’s a city right on the beach, I guess. The architecture is nice. It’s also always good fun to go with people.”

“Something you should know, though,” he says, mid-conversation, “I can’t spend an entire day at the beach. I need todosomething. I’ll enjoy it for a few hours, but then we’d have to go out and explore.”

He saidwe.

Pipe down,mind. Chill.

“Oh really?” I manage, keeping my tone casual. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a ‘just-by-the-beach’ holiday, so I’ll probably have to agree with you on that one.”

“Did you have a nice time in Bournemouth?” He asks.

“Yeah, it was exactly what I needed. Time with Chants, mom hugs, and just… space to think.”

He nods. “I’m sure. I’d love to see Bournemouth some time.”

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