Page 9 of London, Love, & A Little Something Irish

But there’s this wall. One I’m definitely building myself brick by brick. I’m with Joel. Even if things feel weird—even if there’s no electric spark—I don’t need to make them weirder.

“That’s so awesome!” I say, pushing the thoughts aside. “Do you want to come hang out with me and my friends?”

“That sounds great. I’d love to,” he says, as that lopsided grin comes out. Lopsided grins are definitely my favorite.

As we walk back toward the group, the band is still playing, and I take a deep breath, trying to get my thoughts in order. The place is alive with music and laughter, and I should be thinking about how magical it all feels. But my mind is stuck on the fact that I just ran into this guy (Nathan,he told me as we walked towards my friends) in a completely different country.

I mean, what are the odds? He’s from Hillsong London, and I go there too—but we’ve never spoken before. And now here we are, randomly crossing paths in Dublin. I feel that little spark of adventure I’ve been craving. The feeling that something unexpected is happening, something out of the ordinary.

And yet, there’s this weird undercurrent of guilt. Joel and I aren’t exactly the picture of a couple in love, but still. I’m his (very new) girlfriend. I shouldn’t be noticing the way Nathan’s shirt fits or his gorgeous lopsided grin.

We fall into smaller groups, everyone breaking off into their own conversations.

And while my mind absolutely should not be wandering to the guy next to me,Nathan, I can’t help being curious. He’s not too much of a talker. He’s got this sort of quiet confidence about him, self-assured without trying too hard.He doesn’t hand out smiles easily, but when he does? Well. Let’s just say it’s worth the wait.

Joy decides at this moment that she needs to take me aside.

“Okay, spill, how did Nathan and his friends join us?” she asks. His friends found their way over to us after he came with me to meet mine.

“He came up to me and recognized me from church,” I say, shrugging.

“You’ve met him before?” She narrows her eyes.

I tilt my head. “No, actually… I guess he’s just seen me around.”

“I’m sure he’s‘seen you around’alright.” She air-quotes and raises an eyebrow.

I try to hide my blush, but it’s already creeping up my cheeks. “It’s not like it matters. We’re just all hanging out tonight.”

“Whatever you say, Nat.” She gives me the look. TheI-see-right-through-youlook.

It’s a fun way to meet someone, sure. But, it doesn’t matter. I have a boyfriend.

We come back to the group. He has two girls and a guy with him (friends from London, apparently) and the brunette girl seems pretty comfortable in his space. Too comfortable. Is she with him? Not that it matters, really. I’m just curious.

We move from Temple Bar to a kebab place around the corner. Because what’s a night out without a kebab as late-night food? I’m not usually the “stay out late” kind of person. My dad requires me to text him every night when I get back in safe and sound. But this feels like an adventure. The place is bright and chaotic, the smell of frying oil heavy in the air. I’m cold, tired, and honestly, being out this late isn’t really my vibe. I remind myself I’m on my first-ever trip without my parents, and that alone should feel like an adventure.

By the time we finish eating, I’m way more focused on my extremely bloated stomach. Ugh. It’s inevitable that I will feel like I want to burst by the end of the night. We are heading to anotherbar, and as we walk, I stop to snap a few pictures of some street art. I’m not normally someone who is really into street art. But it just lookssoDublin. I’d regret it if I didn’t capture this night, stomach and all. I’m in Dublin!

We enter the next bar, and it’s not very busy. It’s got the old wood vibe to it, and it looks very Irish. Since everyone is up trying to get an order in, I try striking up a conversation with Nathan. I’m a talker. I love conversation. And I can be friends with an attractive man. No problem.

"So… what made you pick Dublin for this trip?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It’s close. And my friends hadn’t been before.”

…Okay. Not exactly a wealth of information. But I’ll try again.

“How long are you guys staying out here? Is there anywhere else you guys have to check out?”

“Just here until tomorrow.”

Right. Cool.

I try a few more times, asking about his trip, his friends, his plans. And his answers stay short and polite but distant. I don’t know what happened to the laid-back, friendly guy who stopped me at the top of the stairs, but it’s like talking to a very attractive brick wall.

I give up pretty quickly after that. I’m not about to spend the night pulling teeth. Not when it’s a weird vibe. He seemed so confident and friendly at first. Now it just feels plain ol’ awkward. Like come on—I’m just trying to have a conversation here. It’s not like I asked him to marry me.

Eventually, we exchange social media handles, friend each other on Facebook, and that’s… that. Just a quick "nice meeting you" before we go our separate ways.

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