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.

windows filter in a golden hue, casting

wooden floors. The melodious chatter of customers combines

ambiance that’s both lively

an occasion that fills the

in our famous blueberry pancakes

a drawer, I retrieve a stack of paperwork—invoices,

no one ever romanticizes, but there’s a

number I check, it’s all a testament to the world I’ve built

thoughts. My gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar

touch of annoyance bubbles up; I was in no mood for interruptions. And after

want to look him in the

I see the takeout coffee cup in his hand. “Can I come

I gesture towards the chair opposite me. “Do you

smile, he places the coffee on my desk. “Thought

almost full coffee mug, then back at him, a teasing smirk playing on

all set, but thanks.”

a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my

you after last night,” he says.

embarrassment floods my cheeks. I don’t want to

about it.

sweet in Karl’s

the pitying glances others have been throwing my way

“Just

But if you ever

rant, I’m here.”

from me. “Thanks. I’ll

moment, as if weighing his words.

not, okay? I appreciate the concern, but

a brunch crowd

knowing smile.

…

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

fever.”

out on what promises to be one of our busiest days of the week

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

so, but he didn’t

be out for a

his

We’re fully booked tonight.”

take a deep breath. “We adapt. That’s all

figure out a solution. That’s when I spot Karl in the corner, working away at

the only other pair of hands I can

“Karl!”

the kitchen before

state,

if hoping to find an escape route.

“You can chop,

almost warily. “Sure, but

times,” I reply with

bandana he’s started wearing when doing his tasks.