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 patches of

wooden floors. The melodious chatter of customers combines

that’s both lively and

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

famous blueberry pancakes or a

of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders, and the like.

ever romanticizes, but there’s a comfort in

every number I check, it’s all a testament

thoughts. My gaze flickers up to

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

I don’t want to look him in the eyes, no matter how beautiful and chocolatey

the takeout coffee cup in his

towards the chair opposite me. “Do

he places the coffee on my desk. “Thought you

at my almost full coffee mug, then back at

all set, but thanks.”

silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my apartment last

check on you after last night,” he says.

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

about it.

something unexpectedly sweet in Karl’s gesture. His concern feels

glances others have been throwing my way sinceI

“Just another bump in the road. We all have

his gaze softening. “True. But if you

rant, I’m here.”

chuckle from me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in

hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his words.

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

brunch crowd

lips curl into a knowing smile. “Alright,

…

kitchen, his face drawn and pale.

fever.”

what promises to be one of our

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

but he didn’t look

be out for a few

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

“We adapt. That’s all we can

That’s when I

in his task, but he’s the only other pair of

“Karl!”

the

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

hoping to find an escape

clarify. “You can

slowly, almost warily. “Sure, but

I reply

the bandana he’s started wearing when doing his