Heartstrings

2 - Claire Harts

"Lou called yesterday when you were still out." Charlie bit a mouthful from his toast and shoved a brown paper bag toward her.

Claire reaches over the counter, grabbing a bagel from the paper bag. "Oh. Is something wrong?" Her grandmother doesn't call on a regular basis, but when she does, it's mostly for emergencies.

He shakes his head. "Just wanted to know if we're still going to make it to her birthday next month."

"I filed a leave. I'm sure Joan wouldn't mind if I take a couple of days off." She walked around the counter and poured herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

"Yes. After working all those overtime, you should be entitled to those days off. However great she is as a writer she shouldn't overwork her assistant."

She chuckles. "She is great, Charlie. She just needs me more often these days. Especially with all these party invitations. And her pending divorce."

"You're a martyr. It was supposed to be a temporary thing. I know people at the gallery who can give you a less stressful job."

When they moved out of their small town to get a job in the city, Claire never doubted Charlie. He's always been good with people; the level-headed one amidst a crisis. It was no wonder why he made a path to a well-paying career. He became a great art dealer while she took longer to find her own career path.

She applied as an assistant and has stayed as one for three years. Joan was still a budding writer then and now that she made it big time, she needed her more. Because as tough as Joan Watts was on the outside, she had kept scars excellently from the public eye. Who would've thought that the great and independent Joan was an alcoholic?

"I'll just give it another year and I'll quit, okay?" She finally said just so her friend would drop the subject.

Charlie nods. "Okay. One year. Maybe then you'll have more time to figure out those dreams that you're having."

"No. I told you before. They're just dreams and that's that."

He swallowed the last of his toast. "I hear you. But what if, just what if?"

"No." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You have to let it go."

"Trust me. I tried. But it can't hurt to do a little research. I don't think they're just innocent dreams."

Claire sighed. "You still haven't given up on your 'reincarnation' theory, have you?"

"I did. But not all the way. Something still bugs me. It's not just a manifestation of your subconscious. I just know it."

She raises a finger. "Well, I don't."

"What if we just give my theory a try?"

Claire Harts is not entirely a disbeliever. There was a time when she believed her dreams were more than just a window to her subconscious. But her grandmother (who used to be a child therapist) didn't look at it that way. She concluded it was just the longing for both parents that drove her to create a haven in her sleep. Charlie, however, is raised by superstitious parents. He would've come up with more than just one theory if given the chance.

"Look, Charlie, it's not that I don't believe you. It's just that, we're both busy people. I don't think we'll have the time."

He snorted. "We have the time."

"Just let it go, Charlie."

"What about those pieces of junk that have you maxing out your credit cards because they cost a fortune?"

She simply shrugs. "I'm not the only one who has an antique collection."

Charlie narrowed his eyes on her. "Who's Esmeralda then?"

"I don't know, Charlie. But I do know that I'm running late." She disposed of the coffee cup in the dishwasher. "I might work late. Don't wait up," she called out.

"I think you should also tell your boyfriend too. He waited for you the other night, you know. Poor thing just sat on the damn couch all night because you promised movie night."

"We made up, Charlie," she pointed out. She then leaves the kitchen, grabbing her bag and keys.

She hears Charlie from the kitchen, telling her about how the 'dreams' subject wasn't over. She closed the door and almost ran smack into a familiar face. She yelped back.

"Good morning, babe." Josh beamed. "You're still up for that breakfast/date?"

She grinned and rolled to her tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips. "You bet."

Josh wrapped his arms around her waist. "I think I'll need more than just a peck."

She slid her fingers over his nape. "Well, then, I'd say take more than just a peck."

He chuckled, dipping his head. He stamped his mouth over hers, claiming her lips like it was his to take. It had always felt that way even from the very first kiss.

He tilted his head, nudging her lips open. She responded by meeting his tongue with hers.

They would've stayed in their steamy little bubble had it not for someone clearing their throat.

They glanced at her landlord, giving us the same snarky and judging look. It would've been detrimental if not for her pink, oversized Mick Mouse sweater covered in cat fur.

She shuffled to her apartment, taking the plastic bag full of cat food to her eight cats.

"What are the chances of me getting you evicted?" Josh whispers, even when her landlord is ready out of sight and in earshot.

She giggled. "I'd say I'd have pretty high chances if we keep making out in the hallway."

He plants a soft peck on her nose. "Well then, it's a good thing that you have a key to my apartment."

She hadn't agreed to move yet; however, she's partially moved in with him. In a way.

"That would make you a very happy man, wouldn't it?" She settled her hands on his chest.

He gave her a boyish grin. "Happiest man alive." He then peppered her cheeks with kisses.

Claire gave him a playful slap on the chest. "Stop. You're going to make me late."

"Just give her a couple of donuts. I'm sure she'll be fine with you being a few minutes late."

She laughed. "She'll be happy with a bottle of tequila." She tried to push him at arm's length even when he seemed hesitant.

Claire intertwined her hand with his to make it up to him. She knew it worked somehow because the dimples were back with his adorable smile.

They walked hand in hand toward the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open, and he gestured for her to go in first before following suit. They stood side by side, their vague reflections in front of them. Josh stood several inches taller. His hair looked like a smudge of caramel brown paint, and his face although slightly hazy on the elevator door panel, gave out an attractive bone structure past average. His shoulders are broad, his arms firm and muscular.

The twenty-three-year-old woman beside him stared back at her. Her hair was shades a shade of black. The coal-black tendrils curled past her shoulders, brushing her dress like flames. Her skin was cream. And although the reflection didn't give more details, she knew freckles were adorning her shoulder blades.

Her eyes are bright green, so pleasantly effervescent. Her cheekbones are high and sprinkled with freckles. Her nose is so well-defined and her lips are full and pink.

It was Esmeralda.

No, it is Claire.

There were times when she couldn't tell which she was. But when the elevator pinged open and with the reflection gone, she was Claire Harts.

Please give my book a heart if you're enjoying my short stories. I would really appreciate it.