Ava knows who Jimmy O'Brien is - her first love and soulmate. Forced to spend time apart, Ava and Jim deal with their trust issues and insecurities.
When the lovers finally reunite and resolve to fight for each other, their fragile happiness is put...
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I burst out of the office center and swiveled my head. The sidewalk I was on swarmed with suit-clad office workers. Spotting my boyfriend would be hard if he didn't tower over most people.
I dodged a group of guys wearing almost identical navy blue suits and rushed toward Jim. My heartbeat quickened with each step, turning almost frenzied when he noticed me, and his lips split into a broad grin.
A pair of aviator shades shielded Jim's eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. He must've had a meeting earlier — a white button-down hugged his muscled torso, and although his shirt and dress slacks were typical business attire, something set him apart from the guys exiting the high rises around me.
Jim wrapped me in his arms, and I pressed my lips to his in a brief kiss. "You didn't tell me you'd pick me up."
His gaze turned warm. "I missed you. And I have nowhere else to be tonight. Tell me how it went with Virginia."
I slid my fingers through Jim's, and he took the first two steps in the direction of the marina, clutching my hand.
"Are we going to walk?" I asked.
Jim leaned down and skimmed his lips over my cheek. "We'll pass the time until our dinner reservation later. I'm taking you out on a date."
I glanced at the pavement and fixed my eyes on Jim's tanned face. "The job is mine. I'm starting tomorrow."
His smile eased wide. "That's awesome, baby. Can't say I'm surprised, though. I'm proud of you."
I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb and rested my head against his shoulder as we walked along the marina, where the docked yachts swayed, moved by the gentle waves. Half an hour later, Jim pointed a hand at a high rise across the street. "The restaurant's there. Let's go."
Once the door slid open, we walked into a sleek lobby adorned with framed artworks and a gurgling fountain in the middle. Jim led the way to the elevator, which took us to the top floor.
The interior was just as stunning as downstairs, only that instead of abstract paintings, photos of several Spanish landmarks I recognized decorated the burgundy walls. A few couples were having dinner, seated at the small square tables covered with crisp white tablecloths. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the ocean — a picture that would take anyone's breath away.
I continued gawking as we strolled to the back of the restaurant. Jim put his hand on the small of my back and nudged me toward a small dining area that only had a table for two and was separated from the rest of the establishment by a heavy curtain that matched the paint on the walls.
Jim pulled a plush chair out for me and lowered himself into the other seat. A server clad in a black button-down and slacks entered the room and placed the menus on the table.
"El Atardecer," I read, unable to contain a grin. "It means sunset in Spanish, right?"
Warmth flooded Jim's green eyes. "Do you like it? The place is new. The owner is Spanish, and they make the best paella in the city. Or so I've been told, so let's find out."
