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 a

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

courses,” I repeat.

allowed to bring

you during the competition. Only one.

I would bring. John, most likely. Or maybe

behind the line,

“Each round will eliminate the lowest-scoring contestant

It will be a spectacle, Abby, and a real

words. Challenge is exactly what I

that isn’t fraught with emotional landmines like my

situation with Karl.

on the local news once for a

trepidation,” Calvin says, and I can

best. Everything will

Thompson,” I

Abby,” Calvin assures me.

reply, the smile on my face probably wide enough to split

phone to my chest, my eyes fluttering closed

prick the corners of my eyes

potential, of a future

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

a new opportunity is unfurling in front of me like a path

it, wherever it may

final deep breath to center myself, I tuck my phone back into

tensions and trials that still await me

…

the aroma of sautéed garlic and simmering sauces filling the air.

falling on John. Beside him, where

empty.

his glare could probably singe the chopped

as the heat emanating from the stovetops. I steel

coming.

Where’s Karl?” I venture cautiously, already suspecting the

prodigy, the illustrious Karl…” He spits the name out like

first night on

everything. What a diva.”

exhalation. “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll

want to be caught in the crossfire between these two.

the back door, the cold air in the alleyway hits me like a

the kitchen. There’s Karl, leaning against the

hear him mutter something, a