Page 79 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

But today is here, ready or not. So, we’re keeping it low-key but special.

So far, we’ve had brunch at a new spot in London. Next, we’re heading to Winter Wonderland to go ice skating, and then we’ll finish the night with dinner and cake with my parents. They’re even getting the coach up from Bournemouth to be here.

Winter Wonderland in London is a Christmas lover’s dream with twinkling lights everywhere. German market stalls spilling over with handmade trinkets. The smell of cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and warm mulled wine curling through the air.

I amthatChristmas lover. It’s festive. Magical. A place where you half expect to turn the corner and see a real-life Christmas rom-com happening in front of you.

I love it.

But today isn’t about me.

Nathan and I are lacing up our skates, his friends doing the same beside us. One of them is visiting from Northern Ireland, staying with Nathan for a few days. A couple of others are here, too, laughing and joking as we all get ready. It feels festive and fun, the air buzzing with laughter and Christmas music.

Nathan finishes lacing up first, then stands and reaches down for me, pulling me to my feet. His hand is warm, steady, familiar.

“How good are you at ice skating?” I ask, gripping his hand as I step onto the ice.

I used to take ice skating lessons. As a kid, I dreamed ofbeing one of those graceful figure skaters, effortlessly gliding across the rink, maybe even landing a perfect spin. Maybe even a triple axel.

But today? Today, I will not be the effortlessly cool ice princess. I will be a baby penguin learning to waddle.

Nathan shrugs. “I’m decent.”

I narrow my eyes. Decent is a vague answer. Suspiciously vague.

And a few seconds later, I learn why.

Becausedecentis not the right word.

Nathan is skating backward—effortlessly, smoothly weaving through the crowd like he was born on ice. He’s weaving through people, completely at ease, fast and agile, moving like he’s in some kind of winter sports montage. He looks like he should’ve taken up ice hockey.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to find my ice legs.

He circles back toward me, reaching for my hands with a teasing grin. “C’mon, keep up.”

I let out a breathless laugh. “Iamkeeping up.” (Barely.)

We skate together—when I can keep up—and when I can’t, he helps me, dragging me along, making me giggle as he deliberately speeds up.

It’s fun.Sofun. I want to make this a yearly tradition.

And Nathan looks like he’s enjoying himself, so that’s a win.

But then, just as we’re finishing up, something catches my eye. A couple is at the center of the rink. And he’s down on one knee.

My heart melts instantly. I grab Nathan’s arm. “Look! Oh my word, how sweet is that?”

But before I can fully swoon, Nathan stiffens beside me.

His voice is dry. “I can’t believe he’d do it in front of all these people.”

It’s like the wind is knocked out of me.

“Oh.” I squeak out. That’s all I manage. Just a tiny, fragile syllable.

I blink up at him. HeknowsI love the idea of having people around when we get engaged. We’ve talked about it. We’ve hintedat marriage plenty, always landing on the same page: sooner rather than later.And he’s made it clear he’s saving for a ring.

But this? This feels like a direct contradiction of everything I thought he knew about me.

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