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.

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

The melodious chatter of customers combines

ambiance that’s both lively

the restaurant with both families and lone

famous blueberry pancakes or a

paperwork—invoices, supplier

that no one ever romanticizes, but there’s a comfort in

I check, it’s all a testament to the

soft knock interrupts my thoughts. My gaze flickers

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

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

in his hand. “Can

I gesture towards the chair opposite me. “Do you need something,

the coffee

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

all set, but thanks.”

eyes hold a twi nkle, a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my apartment last

check on you after last night,” he says. “I’m…

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

about it.

sweet in Karl’s gesture. His

glances others have been throwing my way sinceI got

faint smile. “Just another

gaze softening. “True. But if you ever need to talk or… well,

rant, I’m here.”

me.

for a moment, as if weighing his words.

him off. “Let’s not, okay? I appreciate the concern, but I’d rather focus on

a brunch

knowing smile. “Alright, boss lady.

…

pale. “Abby, we’ve

fever.”

sinks. John being out on what promises to be one of our busiest days of the

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

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

He’ll probably be out for a few days

line cooks, overhears, his face mirroring

We’re fully booked tonight.”

a deep breath. “We adapt. That’s all

when I spot Karl in the corner, working away

but he’s the only other

“Karl!”

the kitchen before settling on me. “Something

in the kitchen,” I state, my tone allowing no room for

around, as if hoping to

I clarify. “You can chop,

almost warily. “Sure, but are you

times,” I reply with a

bandana he’s started wearing when doing his