What's Left of Our Hearts

Collision Point

"Clara, wake up. Clara."

She opened her eyes in a dark room. It took her a moment to focus on Owen's face in front of her. The dream of crystal blue eyes was taking its time to fade from her mind's eye.

"You were having a nightmare," Owen said, his brows knitted in worry.

Was it, though?

Clara glanced at the clock that told her she was up an hour before her alarm. She ran a hand through her damp hair. Perhaps it was a nightmare, this alternative universe her brain had conceived where she and Dominic were together and nothing was ever broken, but perhaps it was just a dream. She could still taste the salt of the Mediterranean air on her tongue. Her eyes refocused on Owen, and she found herself was overwhelmed with guilt, even if it was just a dream.

He gathered her in his arms with the comforter around her, twining his fingers in his hair. This was their favorite position for morning cuddles, nestled into the bedding with her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing him in and feeling calmed by his presence. But today, Clara couldn't stay still for a second. She pushed him away and sat up.

"What's wrong? It's over now, the monsters can't get you. Come back to bed," he said gently.

She rubbed her face. "I can't. I'm awake now. You go back to sleep." Clara got up before he could object or ask more questions, and charged the bathroom as if she were running an hour behind. A quick shower and a double dose of black coffee launched her into the day, but the dream lingered in the back of her thoughts, following her through Manhattan like a dark cloud.

She arrived at their firm's small but tasteful Midtown office on the third floor overlooking someone else's small but not-so-tasteful office across the street. Her boss-slash-best friend, Sophie Sun, was typing away on the large slab of white that she called her desk. It swallowed Sophie's tiny Asian frame right up. It made her appear like a child playing in mommy's office, but brave is the fool who could tell her that. She was the proud owner of SPREG: Sun Partners Real Estate Group—pronounced affectionately as sprig—and always happy to remind people that her name was on the wall.

"Oh good, you're here!" Sophie sprung from her seat like a battery-charged toy bunny. There wasn't much of her to extend up, even with the six-inch pumps she insisted on wearing. They were Loubs, though, so the red-sole warning was loud and clear: I may be short, but don't mess with me.

"Good morning," Clara groaned, her temples throbbing. The coffee infusion had kicked in harder than she'd anticipated. It was starting to feel like a straight up kick to the head.

"The Brits landed and are en route from JFK," said Sophie, typing on her phone as she spoke. The multi-tasking skills on that woman were mildly scary, especially before noon. She glanced at her watch. "They should be arriving any minute now," she said and followed that up with a quick, high-pitched squeak that meant, I'm so excited. We're going to make so much money!

"Excellent," Clara said, tipping back her travel mug with very little enthusiasm.

"Woah. What's wrong with you?" Sophie said, narrowing her eyes. She trotted over to Clara until she was right up to her face—and a few inches down, of course. "You don't look... right." She waved her finger up and down at Clara. "What's wrong with you?"

Clara averted her eyes. Sophie was like a bloodhound when she caught the whiff of something going on in Clara's life. In fact, Sophie butting her nose into Clara's business was how they'd become friends in the first place, back in the old firm before Sophie had struck out on her own and poached Clara. Clara used to get annoyed and try to avoid her, but then she'd come to know that Sophie had a heart of 24-karat gold, and the instinct of a mama bear when it came to Clara. She loved her for it, but the woman was worse than Clara's mother. If Clara's mother were still around, they'd be best of friends. Sometimes Clara secretly wondered if Sophie didn't have something Italian in her genes.

"Tell me," Sophie ordered, placing her hands on her hips. Her thin lips narrowed into a severe red line.

"It's nothing. Had nightmares, couldn't sleep," Clara groaned, still avoiding eye contact. "Oh, look! More coffee."

"You will have to tell me eventually," Sophie said from behind her as Clara escaped to the kitchenette. Once she got there, she opted for water instead. Damn, woman. How she hasn't driven Eric mad was a miracle if Clara had ever seen one. "The man's a saint among us mortals," she mumbled to herself.

"What's that?"

"Oh," Clara said quickly. "I was just asking if we ever got the final visitors list?"

Sophie motioned at the edge of her desk.

Clara walked over and picked up the sheet with the black logo of their British buyers. They'd changed the list on them a few times, so hopefully, this would still be accurate when the group arrived. Clara scanned the names and paused at number three. She almost choked on her water. She heard the elevator ping behind her, and Chloe audibly putting her sales smile on.

"Ah, at last! Welcome, welcome," Sophie said.

No, there was no way. This was an entirely different company, not the Coles', so it couldn't be her Dominic. It was just a weird coincidence. And surely Dominic Cole was a common enough name, wasn't it? Clara laughed at herself, a little shaken but otherwise feeling silly for jumping to conclusions. That stupid dream had put her on edge. She put the sheet down, squared her shoulders, and turned around to greet their visitors.

Her smile tumbled like a rock when she saw who had walked into her lobby.

This couldn't be actually happening.

Dominic, her Dominic, was the buyer?

Her mind scrambled with a million questions, but she managed to compose herself and put her best professional face forward as she headed towards the collision of her past and her present. She only hoped no one would notice her knees quivering. 

What would you do if you were Clara?

Votes are love! <3