The cab stopped in front of an apartment building in the best area of the city. After paying the driver, I got out of the car and inhaled the evening air, failing to calm down my frazzled nerves.

Tasha's words hadn't left my mind all afternoon, and I hated that she managed to get to me. I'd hesitated in front of my closet before I finally settled on a red blouse and black jeans that clung to my curves.

My watch told me it was almost eight p.m. I strolled toward the entrance of the building and pressed the button of Jim's apartment on the intercom. The heavy door clicked open right away, and I stepped into the foyer. The marble floors shone, and the mirrors took up the entirety of one of the walls.

The ride in the elevator seemed too brief. When I got out of the cabin, I didn't have time to collect myself, either —  the door to Jim's apartment opened wide before I rang the doorbell.

Jim stood in the doorway, smiling broadly. The cotton of his long-sleeved gray shirt stretched across his chest, and like me, he went for some black jeans.

Grinning, Jim glanced at his wrist. "It's eight o'clock sharp. Hey, Ava, welcome to the apartment of Jim, also known as the coffee guy, or simply the idiot, idiot, idiot."

"Hey, Jim." I laughed. "That's a nice place you've got."

Jim motioned for me to step inside his condo and closed the door behind me. I started to take off my coat, but he beat me to it, making me shiver when his fingers grazed my arms. Jim hung the garment by the door and led the way into an open plan living room-slash-kitchen.

What took my breath away wasn't the tasteful, minimalistic furniture in light gray and white tones, nor was it the impressive L-shaped couch taking up the center of the room. 

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the breathtaking view of the night city from the enormous clerestory windows.

Jim chuckled at my awed expression. "That's also my favorite thing about this place. I spend lots of time staring out of the window."

"I can't blame you. I mean, look at this. I adore the city at night."

"Looks enthralling."

"Magical."

We both smiled. Jim cleared his throat and nodded toward the kitchen. "I believe I promised you some food. I haven't finished yet; I didn't want it to get cold."

"It's okay. Do you need help?"

"No. I can manage. You're my guest, so just sit and relax."

"Can I stand and watch?"

Jim laughed. The sound made my stomach flutter, which was something I'd never experienced before. When Jim took my hand in his and led me toward the kitchen island, the fluttering grew in intensity. Were those the proverbial butterflies I'd read about?

"So," Jim cleared his throat, "since you told me you ate everything, I went for some spaghetti bolognese."

"Sounds amazing. I brought the dessert."

I retrieved a box of chocolates from my purse.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to," Jim said when I handed the sweets to him. "I got it covered. I have some delicious ice cream."

I shrugged. "We can eat both."

Smiling, my date shook his head and went to the stove. I walked up to Jim and peered into the pot. The smell of the sauce was mouth-watering.

Jim grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred the concoction, glancing at me. 

"I hope you like it," he said, reaching for a salt shaker. His fingers trembled slightly. Was I making him as nervous as he made me?

"I'm gonna taste it, and then we can eat. The pasta's already boiling." Jim nodded toward another pot and took a different spoon to taste what he'd cooked. As soon as he brought it to his mouth, his face scrunched up.

"Fuck!" Jim threw the spoon onto the counter and grabbed a glass to pour some water into it. He gulped it down and groaned, covering his face with his palms. "Idiot, idiot, fucking idiot."

"Hey." I smiled. "It looks delicious. It can't be bad."

"The salt. I forgot I'd put it already. It's disgusting."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating. Let me try."

Despite Jim's protests, I took a bit of the sauce and grimaced when my taste buds registered the excessive amount of salt.

"See? Could I be more of an idiot?" Jim muttered under his breath.

"It's okay." I smiled and rested my hand on his back. "We could google ways of saving the dish. I'm sure there's a solution."

"A beautiful, hungry girl is at my place, and I fucked up on the second date." Jim shook his head and looked at me. "I'm going to call a restaurant."

"We still have spaghetti."

"Only that, Ava. It's not enough."

"Don't you have any vegetables or more meat?"

Jim blushed, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, but I'm not good at improvising. I've only taken a couple of classes. I can't screw up twice."

"We'll cook together. Come on; show me what you have."

"I told you I was going to cook for you," Jim said.

"And you will. I won't do all the work."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay, then." He walked up to the fridge and opened it, letting me see the shelves full of pretty much anything we might need.

I grabbed some vegetables. "Meat?" I asked Jim.

"That's what I don't have, but I have some shrimps. Can we do anything with that?"

"We can make a sauce with shrimps and some zucchini. Have you ever tried it?"

"No, but I trust you. Tell me what to do."

"You wash and dice. I will do the rest."

Jim winked at me. "Gotcha."

We worked side by side, glancing at each other. 

"Do you want to try it?" I asked when the sauce was ready.

"Okay."

I handed Jim a spoon with some sauce on it. He hummed his approval and stunned me by cupping my cheek with his palm. "Thank you for saving dinner and not making me feel worse than I do."

"It happens." I laughed. "I threw away way too much food when I moved to France and had to cook for myself."

"That's so freaking exciting. Tell me about it."

"France? Or the food I threw away?"

Jim smiled. "Both? Come on; you must be starving."

We approached the beautifully set dining table by the window. Jim grabbed the bottle from the wine cooler and took it back to the kitchen counter, only to return with a different one.

"What was wrong with the one you had here?" I asked.

"White wine is better for the shrimps. Sit."

Jim pulled out a chair for me and waited until I made myself comfortable. Then, he sat across from me and served the pasta and the sauce for both of us.

"And the wine," Jim said, grabbing a corkscrew and opening the bottle to pour the drink into our glasses.

I took a small sip, smiling at Jim's flushed face.

"It's okay, you know? You don't have to be so nervous."

Jim groaned. "No, it's not okay. I planned it all, and—"

"And it's perfect. We have food, and the wine's amazing."

Jim shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. "Damn, it's so good." He moaned, his mouth full.

I laughed and ate some, too. Neither of us spoke for a while. When our plates were empty, we leaned back in our chairs with the wine glasses in our hands.

"So, tell me why France," Jim said.

"I took French classes in high school, and I loved the language. I wanted to learn more, and since I had no idea what to do after I graduated, I decided to take a gap year and went to Marseille."

Jim took a sip from his glass. "Had no idea why? I'm sorry if it's too personal; I'm just curious."

"No, it's not too personal at all. And the answer is, I don't know. My friends seemed to be sure of what they wanted to do. One of them is going to be a social worker; another one is studying design. Both are passionate about what they chose. I went to France, hoping the change of scenery would give me some clarity."

"Did it?"

"Yes and no."

"Okay, now, that's an interesting conversation. Come here."

Jim hopped to his feet and grabbed the wine bottle from the cooler. Gently, he took my hand in his and led me to the couch. 

Our glasses refilled, we sat side by side. Jim turned to me. "You said yes and no."

The green, beautiful eyes of the guy next to me gleamed in the yellow light from the floor lamp. They didn't stray from my face once, and I found myself wanting to talk about the thing that had been on my mind for over a year. Jim seemed honest and understanding. As someone who chose to do what he was passionate about, he'd probably get me.

"My dad's a doctor, as I already told you. I think he expects me to study medicine as well."

"But that's not what you want."

"I was a straight-A student in high school, and science was never difficult for me, but I don't see myself going down that road. Dad's used to long shifts and his insane schedule, but that level of commitment is only possible when you're truly passionate about something. I guess that's why I've been dodging this conversation with him since I came back home."

"I can tell you already know what you're passionate about." Jim smiled. "Would you like to share it with me?"

I took another sip because I needed courage to confess my secret. "Yeah. Just promise you won't laugh."

"I'd never do that."

I nodded. My gaze lingered on Jim’s face before I said, “I love reading. And when I was in France, I wrote a book.”

“Oh, wow. For real?”

“Yeah. And I realized I love writing. I’m working on the second one now, and I'd like to see the novel published one day.”

Jim’s eyes glowed at me. “That’s amazing. Must be so exciting. Does it ever happen to you that you need a word and you can’t come up with the right one?”

“Does it ever happen? It happens all the damn time. Sometimes, I need to go for a run to get rid of the block.”

Jim bit his lip, shaking his head. “And she runs," he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“I run, too. We could do it together one morning if you want to.”
 
“I’d love to,” I replied, smiling.

Our eyes locked. Jim was saying nothing. Instead, he seemed to be studying me, paying attention to everything about me in a way that warmed my cheeks.

“I want to see what’s there," I said, rising from the couch, and nodded toward the window, desperate to get away from the intensity of Jim’s intrusive gaze.

He followed me there and stood by my side, looking at the city lights. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, afraid of what would happen if I did.

It'd been two dates, and I liked him more than I'd ever liked anyone. The invisible pull I read so much about had been nothing but empty words until tonight.

Jim moved slightly, shortening the distance between us. We were still facing the window, but now, his hand grazed mine. He laced our fingers and smoothed his thumb over the back of it.

We turned our heads simultaneously. Our eyes locked, and it was everything. My heartbeat quickened, and my body froze in nervous anticipation. 

Tension grabbed hold of the room. Without letting go of my hand, Jim stood in front of me. 

I didn't know if I was more intoxicated from the wine or the tender touch of his fingertips on my skin when he caressed my exposed forearm.

"Come here," Jim whispered, taking another step. If I moved slightly, my chest would touch his. All I wanted to do was drape myself all over him, bury my face in his neck, and commit his smell to my memory.

Jim's hand came to rest on the small of my back, and he edged forward. Lightning shot up my veins when his fingers twined in my hair, and he looked at me, making my insides bubble with anticipation and excitement. 

He wanted to kiss me, and I froze, remembering Tasha's words about my inexperience. Jim would know I'd never done it. Would it push him away when we barely had time to know each other?

"Ava."

He took a step back and looked at me, frowning. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, don't worry. I just...I have to go, I'm afraid."

"Why? Will your dad worry?"

"He's working the night shift; it's not the issue."

Jim took my hand in both of his. "What's the issue, then?"

"It's late. We both drank, and I have to call a cab."

The slight smile on Jim's face didn't make it easy to leave him. 

"Why would you want to go if you can stay? Stay in my apartment. Spend the night here with me."

I looked at Jim's handsome face, and then, his words sank in. Spending the night meant sex, and I hated that Tasha was right more than words could explain.

"I can't, Jim, I'm sorry."

"Then let me call a cab and wait for it with you. I'm not comfortable with you being out there alone this late."

"There's no need, really. Thank you for dinner."

I took my purse from the couch and walked to the hallway. Jim helped me put on my coat, looking confused.

"Ava, I don't really like it," he said. "It feels like something's going on, and I hate not knowing."

"It's all good, Jim. Bye."

I rushed out of Jim's apartment with my cheeks flushed, and my heart thumping wildly. 

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long for the cab. As soon as I settled in the back seat, my phone buzzed with a text.

Jim: Please, give me your address. I believe we need to talk, and it has to be now. I'm coming over.

Thoughts about Jim's words? Ava's reaction?

What does Jim want to talk about?