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 golden hue, casting warm patches of

chatter of

ambiance that’s both lively

fills the restaurant

in our famous blueberry pancakes

of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders,

part of the job that no one ever romanticizes, but

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

soft knock interrupts my thoughts. My gaze flickers up to find Karl’s

door. A touch of annoyance bubbles up; I was in no mood

want to look him in the eyes, no

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

towards the chair opposite me. “Do

slight smile, he places the coffee on my desk.

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

all set, but thanks.”

silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my apartment

wanted to check on you after last

I don’t want to talk

about it.

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

glances others have

faint smile. “Just another

softening. “True. But if you ever need to

rant, I’m here.”

me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in

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

off. “Let’s not, okay?

a brunch crowd to

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

…

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

fever.”

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

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

he didn’t look good. Said he’s been throwing

probably be out for a few days

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

“We adapt. That’s all

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

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

“Karl!”

up, eyes scanning the kitchen before settling

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

hoping to find an escape route.

I clarify. “You can

slowly, almost warily. “Sure,

times,” I reply

breath, adjusting the bandana he’s started wearing when