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:

appetizer, an entree, and a

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

I repeat. “Got

to bring one assistant—or sous

you during the competition. Only one.

I say, already wondering who I would bring. John,

behind the line,

eliminate the lowest-scoring contestant until we’re down to the

a spectacle, Abby, and a

words. Challenge is exactly what I need right

that isn’t

situation with Karl.

local news

trepidation,” Calvin says, and I can

the best. Everything

Mr. Thompson,” I

to have you, Abby,” Calvin assures me. “Check your

will… Thanks again,” I reply, the smile on my face probably wide enough to split

hang up, I clutch my phone to my chest, my eyes fluttering closed

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

of joy, of potential,

happening. I can’t believe this is real. I’ve worked so hard, faced

opportunity is unfurling in front of me like a path of

it, wherever it

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

the tensions and

…

activity, the aroma of sautéed garlic

glancing around at my team, my eyes falling on John. Beside him, where Karl should be,

empty.

his

heat emanating from

coming.

Karl?” I venture cautiously, already suspecting

“Your newest prodigy, the illustrious Karl…”

sick. “…Just stormed out. On his first night on the line. He threw down his

everything. What a diva.”

for letting me know. I’ll

on my heels. I don’t want to be caught in the crossfire

the cold air in the alleyway

There’s Karl, leaning against the brick wall. He’s holding

I approach, I hear him