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.

are special here. The windows filter in a golden hue, casting warm patches of

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

that’s both

the restaurant with both families and

in our famous blueberry

paperwork—invoices, supplier orders, and the like. This is

part of the job that no one ever romanticizes, but there’s a comfort

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

gaze flickers up to find Karl’s familiar

up; I was in no mood for interruptions.

look him in the

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

opposite me. “Do you

smile, he places the coffee on my

glance at my almost full coffee mug, then back at him,

all set, but thanks.”

silent acknowledgment of our

wanted to check on you after last

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

about it.

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

glances others have been

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

softening. “True. But if you ever

rant, I’m here.”

elicits a soft chuckle from me. “Thanks.

hesitates for a moment, as if

not, okay? I appreciate the

a brunch crowd to

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

…

kitchen, his face drawn and pale. “Abby,

fever.”

out on what promises to be one of our

nightmare. “Is he okay?”

so, but he didn’t look good. Said he’s been throwing up

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

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

We’re fully booked tonight.”

breath. “We adapt. That’s all we

to figure out a solution. That’s when I spot Karl in

his task, but he’s the only

“Karl!”

head jerks up, eyes scanning the

I state, my tone allowing no room

as if hoping to find an

I clarify. “You can

warily. “Sure, but are you

reply with

breath, adjusting the bandana he’s