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

down some quick notes as he speaks. This

courses,” I repeat. “Got

continues, “you will be allowed to bring one assistant—or sous chef, rather—of

to help you during the competition.

I would

experience behind the line, but

round will eliminate the lowest-scoring

spectacle, Abby, and a real challenge. And…

words.

something that isn’t fraught with

situation with Karl.

television? I’ve only been on the local news once for a brief

your trepidation,” Calvin says, and I can hear his

Our producers are the best.

Thompson,” I manage,

excited to have you, Abby,” Calvin assures me.

I reply, the smile on my face probably wide enough

to my chest, my eyes fluttering closed

a while, tears prick the corners of my

joy, of potential, of

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

me like a path

it, wherever it

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. It’s time to

kitchen, to the tensions

…

of

team, my eyes falling on

empty.

red-faced, and the intensity of his glare could probably singe the chopped

His mood is as palpable as the heat

coming.

Karl?” I venture

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

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

everything. What a diva.”

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

be caught in

through the back door, the cold air in the alleyway

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

I approach, I hear him mutter something, a