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.

here. The windows filter in a

melodious chatter of customers combines with the clink

ambiance that’s both

an occasion that fills the restaurant with both

blueberry pancakes

paperwork—invoices,

no one ever romanticizes, but

a testament to the world I’ve built brick by

gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar face peeking

of annoyance bubbles up; I

want to look him in the eyes, no matter how beautiful and chocolatey

I see the takeout coffee cup in his

chair opposite me. “Do you need

he places the coffee

back at

all set, but thanks.”

eyes hold a twi nkle, a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in

you after last night,” he

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

about it.

unexpectedly sweet in Karl’s gesture. His concern feels

glances others have

good, Karl,” I lie, managing a faint smile. “Just

in his gaze softening. “True. But if you ever need to talk

rant, I’m here.”

from me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that

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

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

got a brunch crowd to

curl into a knowing smile.

…

drawn and pale. “Abby,

fever.”

promises to be one of

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

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

something. He’ll probably be out for a few

one of my other line cooks, overhears, his face mirroring my concern.

We’re fully booked tonight.”

take a deep breath. “We adapt.

solution. That’s when I

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

“Karl!”

up, eyes scanning the kitchen before

need you in the kitchen,” I state, my

looks around, as if hoping to find an escape route.

clarify. “You

almost warily. “Sure, but are you sure about

times,” I reply

breath, adjusting the bandana he’s started wearing when doing his