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.

mornings are special here. The windows filter in a

the wooden floors. The melodious chatter of customers combines with the clink

that’s both lively

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

blueberry

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

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

a testament to

gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar

A touch of annoyance bubbles up; I was in

want to look him in the

cup in

opposite

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

at him, a teasing smirk playing

all set, but thanks.”

nkle, a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in

you after last night,”

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

about it.

unexpectedly sweet in Karl’s gesture. His

pitying glances others have been

managing a faint smile. “Just

nods, the seriousness in his gaze softening. “True. But if you ever need to

rant, I’m here.”

chuckle from me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in

a moment, as if

raise a hand, cutting him off. “Let’s not, okay?

a brunch crowd

knowing smile. “Alright, boss lady. Let’s get to

…

kitchen, his face drawn and pale. “Abby,

fever.”

being out on what promises to be one of our busiest days of

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

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

be out

of my other line cooks, overhears, his face mirroring my

We’re fully booked tonight.”

“We adapt. That’s all

figure out a solution. That’s when I spot

caught up in his task, but he’s the only

“Karl!”

eyes scanning the

kitchen,” I state, my tone allowing no

if hoping to find an

I clarify. “You can chop,

nods slowly, almost warily. “Sure, but

times,” I reply with

the bandana he’s started wearing when