Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 63: Comatose
I’m standing by the stainless steel counter, doing my best to look like I’m occupied with inventory and

prepping the dough for our fresh bread in the morning.

But my real focus is on the fiery dance unfolding in front of me—Karl and John, circling each other in

the kitchen like two alpha wolves in a turf war. The tension is so thick you could spread it on toast.

“Karl! Chop those onions faster!” John barks, to which Karl surprisingly complies—and with a smile on

his face, no less. I’m pleased. It’s not perfect, but it’s their first night. I just hope that it gets better over

time.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket, shattering the moment. I glance down; it’s a call from Calvin,

the representative for the cook-off. I’m suddenly flooded with a mixture of excitement and nerves. This

could be a game-changer for my career, for my restaurant, for me.

With a lingering glance at Karl, whose hands are meticulously arranging greens on a plate, I slip away.

I dart through the swinging door of the kitchen, my heels clicking urgently against the tile floor, and

make a beeline for my office.

Once inside, I close the door, leaning against it momentarily to collect myself. Taking a deep, steadying

breath, I swipe the screen and answer.

“Mr. Thompson, hi! Sorry I couldn’t take your call immediately. Things are a little hectic here.”

“No worries, Abby.” Calvin’s voice is as smooth as I remember, professional with a tinge of friendliness.

“I know you’re a busy woman. That’s part of why we wanted you for the cook-off, actually.”

My heart swells with a combination of pride and anticipation. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. That means a

lot.”

“Now, onto why I called you: I’ve just received the recipe list for the cook-off,” he continues. “I’ll be

sending it to you via email shortly. You’re welcome to spend the coming weeks practicing, but keep in

mind that only three recipes will be chosen from the list, and you won’t know which ones will be chosen

until the time of the competition. The format will involve each contestant cooking a three-course meal:

entree, and

jot down some quick notes as he speaks. This is more structured than I thought, but also

“Three courses,” I

to bring one assistant—or sous

the competition. Only

wondering who I would bring.

behind the line, but he’s

continues. “Each round will eliminate the lowest-scoring contestant until we’re down

Abby, and a

at his words. Challenge is exactly what I

throw myself into, something that isn’t

situation with Karl.

on the local news once for a

can sense your trepidation,” Calvin says, and I can

best. Everything will be

you, Mr. Thompson,”

Abby,” Calvin assures me. “Check

my face probably wide enough to split it

I clutch my phone to my chest, my eyes fluttering closed for

first time in a while, tears prick the corners of my eyes for a reason

joy, of potential, of a future that’s

believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is real.

of me like a

it, wherever it

final deep breath to center myself, I tuck my

the tensions and trials that still await me

…

aroma of sautéed garlic

glancing around at my team, my eyes falling

empty.

and the intensity of his glare could probably singe

is as palpable as the heat emanating

coming.

Karl?” I venture cautiously, already suspecting the

lock onto mine. “Your newest prodigy, the illustrious Karl…” He spits the name out

out. On his first night on the line. He threw down his apron

everything. What a diva.”

thanks for letting me know. I’ll handle

heels. I don’t want to be caught in the crossfire between these

back door, the cold air in the alleyway

leaning against the brick wall. He’s holding a cigarette

hear him mutter something, a soft curse, beneath his