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 a

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

“Three courses,” I repeat.

to bring

help you during the competition.

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

behind the line,

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

a spectacle, Abby, and a real challenge.

courses through me at his words. Challenge is exactly what I

that isn’t fraught with emotional landmines like

situation with Karl.

been on the local news once for a brief five-minute

can hear his warm

producers are the best. Everything will be taken

you, Mr. Thompson,” I manage,

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

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

hang up, I clutch my phone to my chest,

tears prick the corners of my eyes for a reason other

They’re tears of joy, of potential, of a future that’s finally looking

this is real. I’ve worked so hard, faced

front of me

it, wherever it may

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

tensions and trials that still await

…

of sautéed garlic and simmering sauces filling the air.

falling on

empty.

his glare

as the heat emanating from the stovetops. I steel myself for

coming.

Karl?” I venture cautiously, already suspecting

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

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

everything. What a diva.”

heavy, world-weary exhalation. “Okay, thanks for

want to be caught in the crossfire between these two.

the cold air in the alleyway hits me like

Karl, leaning against the brick

as I approach, I hear him mutter something, a soft curse,