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.

windows filter in a golden

chatter of customers combines

both lively and

means brunch, an occasion that fills the restaurant with both

in our famous blueberry pancakes

paperwork—invoices, supplier orders, and

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

all a testament to the world I’ve built brick by brick, dish

thoughts. My gaze flickers up to

bubbles up; I was in no mood for interruptions.

I don’t want to look him in the eyes, no

cup in his

chair opposite me. “Do you need something,

slight smile, he places the coffee on my desk. “Thought you might need

full coffee mug, then back at him, a teasing smirk playing on

all set, but thanks.”

a silent acknowledgment of

check on you after last

tinge of embarrassment 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.

to the pitying glances others have been throwing

“Just another bump in the

“True. But if you ever need to talk

rant, I’m here.”

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

hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his words. “Look, about

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

got a brunch crowd

into a knowing smile. “Alright,

…

enters the kitchen, his face drawn and pale.

fever.”

being out on what promises to be one

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

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

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

my other line cooks, overhears, his face mirroring

We’re fully booked tonight.”

“We

when I spot

his task, but he’s the

“Karl!”

scanning the kitchen before settling

need you in the kitchen,” I state, my

around, as if hoping to find

“You can chop,

“Sure, but are you

I reply with

the bandana he’s started wearing when