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.

here. The windows filter in a golden hue, casting

chatter of customers

ambiance that’s both

occasion that fills the restaurant with both families and lone

blueberry

of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders, and

one ever romanticizes,

number I check, it’s all a testament

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

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

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

coffee cup in his hand. “Can I come

the chair opposite me.

a slight smile, he places the coffee on

glance at my almost full coffee mug, then back at

all set, but thanks.”

nkle, a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my

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

embarrassment floods my cheeks. I don’t want to talk about it.

about it.

there’s something unexpectedly sweet in Karl’s gesture.

glances others have been throwing my

faint smile. “Just

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

rant, I’m here.”

from me. “Thanks. I’ll

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

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

brunch

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

…

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

fever.”

out on what promises to be one

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

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

food poisoning or something. He’ll probably be out for a

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

deep breath. “We

when I spot Karl in the corner,

the only other

“Karl!”

jerks up, eyes scanning the

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

if hoping to

“You can chop,

nods slowly, almost warily. “Sure,

times,” I reply with

a deep breath, adjusting the bandana he’s