Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 41: Sparks Fly
Abby

Pushing the restaurant’s door open, I’m immediately enveloped by the scent of fresh bread and

brewing coffee.

The day beckons, promising a hustle that I’m both dreading and anticipating. Each wooden table is

adorned with a fresh bunch of flowers, the gentle hum of the morning preparations playing softly in the

background.

“Morning, Abby!” Jake, my ever-efficient waiter, calls out, balancing a tray of fresh pastries on his palm.

His smile reaches his eyes, but there’s an underlying tension behind his gaze. Word travels fast, and

I’m sure the staff knows about the disaster that was last night.

From behind the bar, Chloe shoots me a sheepish grin. I narrow my eyes at her, knowing that she likely

blabbed to someone, but I can’t stay mad at her.

“Hey, Jake,” I reply, forcing brightness into my voice, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the

emotional hangover.

Daisy joins Jake, her apron already smudged with the morning’s work. “Need a coffee?” she asks, a

knowing glint in her eyes.

“Wouldn’t say no to that,” I respond with a weary chuckle.

She swiftly moves to the espresso machine, her hands practiced and sure, and within moments I’m

cradling a warm cup of comfort. The aroma alone gives me the pick-me-up I desperately need.

“Thanks, Daisy. Oh, and get a new apron from the back before customers start coming, alright?”

“Sure thing, boss!”

The warmth of my office is a welcome reprieve from the bustling chaos of the restaurant. I step inside,

immediately relishing the sense of solitude it offers.

My small haven is dimly lit, decorated with tasteful artwork and an impressive array of certificates that

vouch for my culinary skills. Yet, right now, they feel like mere props to a play that’s become all too real.

Sliding the door shut, I exhale a long, deep sigh. My feet carry me to the plush leather chair behind my

oak desk. As I sink into it, every muscle in my body seems to let go of the tension it’s been holding

onto. My temples throb, a painful reminder of the tears and restless tossing of the previous night.

Yet, there’s a silver lining to my gloomy clouds. My restaurant. My sanctuary.

mornings are special here. The windows filter in a golden hue, casting warm

the wooden floors. The melodious chatter of customers combines with the clink of

ambiance that’s both

that fills the

our famous blueberry pancakes

I retrieve a stack of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders,

romanticizes, but there’s a comfort in the routine of

I sign, every number I check, it’s all a testament to

gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar face peeking through

bubbles up; I was in no mood for interruptions. And

want to look him in the eyes, no matter how beautiful and chocolatey

cup in

towards the chair opposite me. “Do you need

he places the coffee on my desk.

then back at him, a teasing smirk playing on my

all set, but thanks.”

twi nkle, a silent acknowledgment of

wanted to check on you after last night,” he says.

I don’t want to talk about it. Hell, I don’t even want to

about it.

in Karl’s gesture. His concern feels genuine, a

to the pitying glances others have been throwing my way sinceI

a faint smile. “Just another bump in the road.

gaze softening. “True. But if you ever need to talk

rant, I’m here.”

elicits a soft chuckle from me. “Thanks.

a moment, as if

“Let’s not, okay? I appreciate the

brunch crowd

smile. “Alright, boss

…

drawn and pale. “Abby, we’ve got a problem. John’s down

fever.”

promises to be one of our busiest days of the

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

chewing his lips. “I think so, but he didn’t look good. Said he’s been throwing up

probably be

cooks, overhears, his face mirroring my concern.

We’re fully booked tonight.”

“We adapt. That’s all

That’s when I spot Karl in the

in his task, but he’s the only other

“Karl!”

eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on me. “Something

need you in the kitchen,” I state, my tone

as if hoping to

clarify. “You

slowly, almost warily. “Sure, but are you sure about

times,” I reply

breath, adjusting the bandana he’s