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.

in a golden hue, casting warm

floors. The melodious chatter of customers combines with the clink

that’s both lively

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

in our famous blueberry pancakes or a hearty

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

that no one ever romanticizes,

I sign, every number I check, it’s all a testament

my thoughts. My gaze flickers

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

him in the eyes,

coffee cup in his hand. “Can I come

chair opposite me. “Do

slight smile, he places the coffee

at my almost full coffee mug, then back at

all set, but thanks.”

silent acknowledgment of our shared

after last night,” he says. “I’m…

tinge of embarrassment floods my cheeks. I don’t want to talk about it. Hell, I don’t

about it.

Karl’s gesture. His concern feels genuine,

the pitying glances others have been throwing

smile. “Just another bump in the road. We

his gaze softening. “True. But if you ever

rant, I’m here.”

from me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in

moment, as if

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

a brunch

lips curl into a knowing smile. “Alright,

…

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

fever.”

on what promises to be one of our

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

think so, but he didn’t look

something. He’ll probably be out

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

breath. “We adapt. That’s all

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

his task, but he’s the only other pair of hands I can

“Karl!”

eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on me. “Something

you in the kitchen,” I state, my

as if hoping

I clarify. “You can

almost warily. “Sure, but are you sure

times,” I reply

a deep breath, adjusting the bandana he’s started wearing