#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 hue, casting

The melodious chatter of customers

ambiance that’s both lively and

that fills the restaurant

famous blueberry pancakes

stack of paperwork—invoices, supplier orders,

one ever romanticizes, but there’s a

check, it’s all a testament to the world I’ve

thoughts. My gaze flickers up

I

I don’t want to look him in the eyes, no matter how beautiful and chocolatey they

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

I gesture towards the chair opposite me. “Do you need

the coffee on my

my almost full coffee mug, then back at him,

all set, but thanks.”

nkle, a silent acknowledgment of our shared moment in my

check on you after

I don’t want to talk

about it.

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

the pitying glances others have been throwing

a faint smile. “Just another bump in

softening. “True. But

rant, I’m here.”

me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in

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

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

brunch

knowing smile. “Alright, boss lady.

face drawn and pale.

fever.”

to be one of our busiest days of the week is

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

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

or something. He’ll probably be out for

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

take a deep breath. “We adapt. That’s

That’s when I

he’s the only

“Karl!”

eyes scanning the kitchen before settling

the kitchen,” I state, my tone allowing

as if hoping to find

clarify. “You can

“Sure, but

times,” I reply with

he’s

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