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

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

courses,” I repeat.

will be allowed to bring one assistant—or

during the competition. Only one. Choose

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

the line,

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

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

courses through me at his words. Challenge is

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

situation with Karl.

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

I can hear his warm smile through the phone.

are the best.

you, Mr. Thompson,”

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

on my face probably wide enough

chest, my eyes fluttering closed

time in a while, tears prick the corners of

joy, of potential, of a future that’s

this is real. I’ve worked so

front of me like a path of

it, wherever it

breath to center myself, I tuck my phone back into

that is my kitchen, to the tensions and

…

kitchen is bustling with activity, the aroma of sautéed garlic and simmering sauces

my team, my eyes falling on John. Beside him,

empty.

his glare could probably singe

mood is as palpable as the heat emanating

coming.

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

mine. “Your newest prodigy, the illustrious Karl…” He

On his first night on the line. He threw down

everything. What a diva.”

heavy, world-weary exhalation. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.

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

cold air in the alleyway hits me like a wave, washing away the

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

him mutter something, a soft curse, beneath his