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 combines

both lively and

occasion that fills the

blueberry pancakes or

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

one ever romanticizes, but there’s a comfort

I sign, every number I check, it’s all a testament to the world I’ve built brick

my thoughts. My gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar face peeking through

up; I was in no mood for interruptions. And

the eyes, no matter how

the takeout coffee cup in his hand. “Can I come in?”

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

the coffee on my desk. “Thought

full coffee mug, then back at

all set, but thanks.”

silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my

to check on you after last night,” he

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

about it.

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

the pitying glances others have been

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

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

rant, I’m here.”

from me.

as if weighing his

“Let’s not, okay?

brunch

knowing smile. “Alright, boss

…

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

fever.”

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

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

he didn’t look good. Said

He’ll probably be

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

a deep breath. “We adapt. That’s

races, trying to figure out a solution. That’s when I spot Karl

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

“Karl!”

scanning the kitchen before

state, my

around, as if hoping to

clarify. “You

almost warily. “Sure, but are you sure

times,” I reply

deep breath, adjusting the bandana he’s started wearing when doing