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:

an entree, and

quick notes as he speaks. This is more structured than I thought, but

“Three courses,” I repeat. “Got

to bring one assistant—or

help you during the competition.

wondering who I would bring. John, most likely. Or maybe

the line, but

“Each round will eliminate the lowest-scoring

will be a spectacle, Abby, and a real challenge. And… It will

his words. Challenge

throw myself into, something that isn’t fraught with emotional landmines like

situation with Karl.

on the local news once for

can sense your trepidation,” Calvin says, and I can hear his warm smile through the phone. “But

are the best. Everything

you, Mr. Thompson,” I manage,

Abby,” Calvin assures me. “Check

again,” I reply, the smile on my

clutch my phone to my chest, my eyes

while, tears prick the corners of my eyes for a reason other than heartbreak

joy, of potential, of

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

in front of me like a path of golden breadcrumbs. And I

wherever it

to center myself, I tuck my phone back into my pocket. It’s time to return

that is my kitchen, to the tensions and

…

activity, the aroma of sautéed garlic and

team, my eyes falling

empty.

and the intensity of his glare could probably singe the chopped vegetables

heat emanating from

coming.

venture cautiously,

“Your newest prodigy, the illustrious Karl…” He

night on the line. He threw down

everything. What a diva.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll handle it,” I

want to be caught

back door, the cold air in the

Karl, leaning against the

approach, I hear him