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,

as he speaks. This is more structured

I

will be allowed to bring one assistant—or

to help you during the competition. Only

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

behind the

continues. “Each round will eliminate the lowest-scoring contestant until

and a real challenge. And… It will be

words. Challenge is

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

situation with Karl.

I’ve only been on the local

and I can hear his warm smile

are the best. Everything will be taken care

Mr. Thompson,” I

Calvin assures me. “Check your

Thanks again,” I reply, the smile on my face probably

my phone to my chest, my eyes fluttering closed

tears prick the corners of my eyes for a reason

tears of joy, of potential, of a future that’s

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

in front of me

wherever

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

my kitchen, to the tensions and trials that still await me

…

kitchen is bustling with activity, the aroma of

glancing around at my team, my eyes falling on John. Beside

empty.

and the intensity of his glare

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

coming.

I venture cautiously,

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

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

everything. What a diva.”

heavy, world-weary exhalation. “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll handle it,” I

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

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

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

him mutter something, a soft