Page 72 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

“So I guess you’re happily stuck with me now?” She wrapped her arms around my waist, looking up at me.

“You can’t imagine how much.” I brought her close and kissed her then.

After months of friendship, of pursuing her, of waiting for the timing to be right—we’re here.

She’s mine.Finally. And to have her by my side now, to be the one she chooses every day? It’s the best feeling in the world.

We’ve been having a lot of adventures. Just last weekend, she hopped on the back of my bike for a road trip with some of the guys and their girlfriends. I’m part of a biker group at church, and we planned a trip to the Cotswolds, which is about two hours from London.

I’ll never forget the feel of her arms wrapped around me, the way her body molded into mine as we cut through the countryside, the wind whipping at us. The quickening of our heartbeats as our adrenaline rose. She’d never seen the Cotswolds before, but she took it all in. She’s already come so far in pushing past her fears.

And now, she’s officially moved out of her dorms. For the next two months, we’ll be long-distance. Two hours isn’t far, but it’s not the same as hopping on a tube, stealing every free moment we could. She’s moving into a house with some girls from church in Canary Wharf at the end of August, and I already can’t wait to have her back in London.

I’m going to miss seeing her so regularly.

So, we’ve made a plan. Every other weekend, I’ll take the bike down to Bournemouth. On the off weekends, she’ll come to London and stay with a friend. And any weekend she can’t, I’ll be there anyway. I don’t want to go more than a week without seeing her.

And today is the first day I’m going down to see her. All her stuff is back at her parents’ place, even though there wasn’t that much to move back since she was just living in the dorms.

Today is also the day I meet her parents for the first time. I’m not nervous to meet them. I don’t really do nerves. I know her dad only speaks Portuguese, so we may not have much of a chance of talking considering the only other language I can say anything in is French. And that’s only “Bonjour” and a few sentences. But,I know her mum speaks English fluently, so I’m sure we’ll get along.

Idowant to make a good impression on them though. Because if things keep going the way I think they will—I’ll be coming back here in a few months, standing in front of them alone, asking for a blessing that will change everything.

As I pull up to their flat on my motorbike, I take a deep breath, glancing up at the building. I can’t see the ocean yet, but I know it’s close. I can feel it in the air, the crisp saltiness rolling in with the wind.

I want to see it with her.

I know I can’t take her on the bike while I’m here. Her dad doesn’t approve. He wants his daughter safe.But what he needs to understand is thatI do, too.More than anything.

But I also want her to live. To chase adventure. To step into fear and come out on the other side stronger.I want to help her use her wings and fly at every moment I can get.

For now, though, I’ll respect his wishes.

I park the bike and head for the elevator.

As soon as I ring the bell, the door flies open.

And then she’s there.

She launches herself at me, arms flung around my neck, her body pressing into mine like we’ve been apart for years instead of days. She smells just like she always does, fruity and sweet. I let out a low chuckle, wrapping one arm around her, using the other to tilt her chin up. I want to kiss her senseless. But I hold back, this isn’t the time—not the first impression I want to give.

Still, Ineedsomething. Just a taste.

“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur against her lips.

“Hey, babe,” she grins, eyes bright. She grabs my hand. “Come on through.”

Her mom is exactly what I expected. Warm, affectionate, easy to talk to.She immediately pulls me into a hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek like she’s already decided Ibelong.

“It’s nice to meet the man who seems to have captured my daughter’s heart,” she says, grinning.

I grin back. “Oi, tudo bem?”

Her eyes widen. “Ohhh, that’s impressive, isn’t it, Lily?” Nataly’s nickname that her parents gave her is Lily, but pronouncedlee-lee. It sounds like the last syllable of her name in Portuguese.

Nataly elbows me playfully. “I taught him that, Mom.”

Her dad is more serious, more reserved, but I was expecting that. He offers a handshake, firm and steady. “Hello.”

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