Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 38: A Promise
Abby

The weight of loneliness presses down on me as the pristine table setting lies untouched. The absence

of Adam’s presence burns more than any verbal rebuke ever could. Frustration bubbles within me as I

glare at the untouched plates of food, each dish meticulously crafted to symbolize the deep affection I

hold for him.

“This dam ned evening…” I mutter under my breath.

My fingers tremble slightly as I quickly text Chloe: “Adam didn’t show. AGAIN.”

Before I can even put my phone down, it’s vibrating, and Chloe’s name flashes across the screen. I

take a deep breath and answer. “Hey.”

Chloe wastes no time, her voice thick with worry and frustration. “Abby, what the hell happened? Did he

at least call?”

I sigh, trying to hold back my tears. “I waited, Chloe. Set the table, lit candles, even put on that playlist

he loves. An hour goes by, and nothing. So I called him. And guess where he is?”

Chloe huffs. “Let me guess. The restaurant?”

“Bingo,” I mutter bitterly. “And the best part? He acted like it was just another day. Like he hadn’t

promised he’d be here just yesterday.”

There’s a pause on Chloe’s end before she says, “Abby, how many times are you going to let him do

this? This isn’t what love looks like.”

My voice cra cks a bit as I feel the irresistible urge to defend him, even though I know it’s wrong. “But

we share so much. The passion for food, our dreams… There are moments, Chloe, where everything

feels right. I love him.”

Chloe takes a deep breath, “You remember that one time we tried to bake Leah’s birthday cake, and

we accidentally mistook salt for sugar? On the surface, they looked so similar but tasted worlds apart.

Maybe that’s Adam. Looks right but isn’t good for you.”

I’m taken aback by her words, the truth in them stinging. “I… I don’t know, Chloe. Maybe I’m afraid of

being alone.”

it is,” Chloe murmurs. “You moved on so quickly

not just… moving

truth in her words. “Adam’s not a rebound,

“But look, Abby, he’s a workaholic. He’s not treating

end things, know that

with conflicting emotions. “I need to

voice is soft and comforting. “You deserve happiness.

someone’s priority.”

as I change the subject. “Hey, speaking of priorities,

to be on a

can imagine her blushing on the other end. “Oh, it was… well, let’s just say

very good.”

Chloe! Leaving so soon? That must’ve been…

comfort of our shared humor momentarily eases my pain. “Let’s just

thrilling,

Chlo,” I say, feeling the weight of the night’s disappointment

her voice. “And

call, my

its flavor, though rich, now tainted by the bitterness of

drenched in warm hues from the strategically placed candles,

glow they cast illuminates the high ceilings and ornate woodwork of my apartment.

care, seems

I swipe at a plate of caprese

leaves.

waste…” I

the food into the trash. The soft gnocchi,

delicate veal. Everything is discarded, just

symbolic of moments in our relationship,

cathartic—albeit wasteful—process when an idea, perhaps influenced

wine, hits me.

like a beacon in the fog of

been different—reliable, true to his word. He’s an as shole, but in those

And I miss him,

the second, and perhaps the wine

as I hear the familiar ring on the other end. What am I even doing?

voice breaks

deep breath, I plunge into my impromptu plan. “Hey, Karl.

softly. “You

mean at my place. I cooked up a storm, and now I

to feed an army. Care to

it’s more contemplative than awkward. I can almost picture Karl,

furrowing, trying to decipher the

starts, “It’s late. Is everything

bailed on me.

all this food, to