That's How it Happens

8: The Trouble with Dreams

Ainsley hadn't meant to say anything. Especially not to April. But the words slipped out like steam from a cracked kettle- quiet, uninvited, and impossible to shove back in.

It wasn't that she trusted April with secrets. April collected gossip like vintage handbags: flashy, impractical, and always on display. But in that moment, Ainsley felt like she was unraveling. The stress of the ad campaign, the breakup, and Leo – Leo was being weird —it had all piled up like laundry she kept promising to fold.

And April, for all her dramatics, had a way of making the world feel less heavy. She didn't judge. She poked, teased, and exaggerated, sure—but she listened. And sometimes, when Ainsley needed to say something out loud just to make sense of it, April was the only person who wouldn't flinch. She may tell the entire world, but at least she wasn't judging her.

So when April joked about her family and the disaster waiting to happen, Ainsley's defenses cracked. The dream had been haunting her all morning, and she needed someone to tell her it didn't mean anything. Or maybe that it did.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hopelessly hoping April hadn't caught that slip. But when she opened them, April was already leaning in, eyes gleaming like a tabloid headline.

"Now, this is juicy. Do tell."

Ainsley groaned internally. "There isn't much to tell," she lied, hoping it would shut it down.

But the words kept coming. "It started the night of the breakup..."

"You mean the dumping?" April corrected with a smirk. Ainsley shot her a look. "What? I need clarification."

Ainsley nodded begrudgingly, then added the part about the masked stranger and her drunken blunder – which shockingly, didn't earn a reaction.

"...but he may have stopped by last night," she blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth like she'd just confessed to murder.

April's eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. "Oh my god, you finally shagged!"

"What? No!" Ainsley yelped, horrified. "We did not shag." The word felt like gravel in her mouth. Her cheeks flushed. "But in my dream..."

"Dream sex! How was it?"

Ainsley blinked at her, speechless. There was no logic to April's questions – just pure chaos.

And yet, April couldn't help but wonder what the fascination was with Leo. She found him insufferable, but she loved drama more than she hated him. That couldn't be said about another fellow in the office, though. That was half the reason she showed up – to flirt and annoy the boss. The other half was probably snacks and, of course, all her admiring ears.

"Can I finish?" Ainsley snapped, flustered.

April's attention snapped into focus, inspecting her nails like she hadn't just derailed from the conversation.

"There was a moment," Ainsley continued, "where we just... stared at each other. And something shifted."

"His-" April waggled her eyebrows.

It wasn't April's fault that her mind was suddenly in the gutter after thinking about her...well, she guessed he was her crush even though that sounded childish. Honestly, the man didn't even know about her feelings; if it were up to her, he never would. It would never work, but she did like flirting. If you called demeaning him in every way possible, flirting.

"No, Nothing like that." April deflated slightly, though her mind clearly wandered elsewhere.

"We just sat together. Which isn't unusual. But it was different. The way he looked at me... the way it made me feel." She shook her head, trying to clear the image and that tingly feeling that had crept into every follicle.