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.

The windows filter in a golden hue,

melodious chatter of

that’s both

brunch, an occasion that fills the restaurant with both families and lone

blueberry pancakes or a hearty

drawer, I retrieve a stack of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders, and the

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

testament to the

soft knock interrupts my thoughts. My gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar face

of annoyance bubbles up; I was

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

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

gesture towards the chair opposite me. “Do

the coffee on my desk. “Thought you might need

mug, then back at him, a teasing smirk playing on my lips.

all set, but thanks.”

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

on you after last night,” he

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

about it.

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

pitying glances others have been throwing

faint smile. “Just another bump in the road. We all

in his gaze softening. “True. But if you ever need

rant, I’m here.”

elicits a soft chuckle from me. “Thanks.

a moment, as if weighing his words. “Look,

okay? I appreciate the concern, but I’d rather focus on

got a brunch

curl into a knowing smile. “Alright, boss lady. Let’s get

…

his face drawn and pale. “Abby, we’ve got a

fever.”

being out on what promises to be one of our busiest

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

but he didn’t look good. Said he’s been throwing up

or something. He’ll probably be out for a few days at

cooks, overhears, his face mirroring my concern. “What’re we

We’re fully booked tonight.”

“We adapt. That’s all

trying to figure out a solution. That’s when I spot Karl in the corner,

the only

“Karl!”

head jerks up, eyes scanning the kitchen before

need you in the kitchen,” I state, my

as if hoping to find an

clarify. “You can chop,

almost warily. “Sure, but are

reply with

deep breath, adjusting the bandana he’s