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.

special here. The windows filter in a

of customers combines with

ambiance that’s both

an occasion that fills the restaurant with

our famous blueberry pancakes or

stack of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders, and the

one ever romanticizes, but there’s a comfort in

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

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

touch of annoyance bubbles up; I

want to look him in the eyes, no matter how

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

gesture towards the chair opposite me. “Do you

coffee on my

full coffee mug, then back at him,

all set, but thanks.”

nkle, a silent acknowledgment

check on you after last

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

about it.

something unexpectedly sweet in Karl’s gesture. His concern feels genuine, a

glances others have been throwing my way sinceI got

a faint smile. “Just another

the seriousness in his gaze softening. “True. But if you

rant, I’m here.”

me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in

hesitates for a moment, as if weighing

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

a brunch crowd to

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

…

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

fever.”

to be one

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

lips. “I think so, but he didn’t look good. Said

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

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

deep breath. “We adapt. That’s all

a solution. That’s when I spot Karl in the corner, working

his task, but he’s the only

“Karl!”

head jerks up, eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on

kitchen,” I state, my tone allowing no

around, as if hoping to find an escape route.

I clarify. “You can chop,

slowly, almost warily. “Sure, but are you sure

times,” I reply with a

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