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.

filter in

chatter of customers

that’s both

an occasion that fills the restaurant with both families and lone

our famous blueberry pancakes

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

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

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

interrupts my thoughts. My gaze flickers up

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

look him in the eyes, no matter how beautiful

takeout coffee cup in his hand. “Can I

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

the coffee on my desk.

my almost full coffee mug, then back at him, a teasing smirk

all set, but thanks.”

acknowledgment of our shared moment in my apartment

on you after last night,”

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

about it.

Karl’s gesture.

have been throwing my way sinceI

“Just another bump in the road. We all have

in his gaze softening. “True. But if you ever need to talk or… well, even

rant, I’m here.”

elicits a soft chuckle from me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that

a moment, as if weighing his

“Let’s not, okay? I appreciate the concern, but

brunch crowd to

a knowing smile. “Alright,

…

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

fever.”

be one of our busiest days

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

think so, but he didn’t look

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

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

breath. “We adapt. That’s all we can

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

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

“Karl!”

jerks up, eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on me. “Something

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

around, as if hoping to find an

I clarify. “You

“Sure, but are you sure

times,” I reply

adjusting the bandana he’s started wearing when doing