Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 65: Apologies
The aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce fills the air as I sit at my desk,

reviewing the inventory for the week.

It’s still early in the day, but the restaurant has already started to come alive. My eyes flit over numbers

and figures, but my thoughts keep drifting to the chaos of last night—Karl, John, Ethan, and that cook-

off looming in the future like a beacon of both opportunity and uncertainty.

As I’m about to turn my attention to the newly arrived email from Calvin, there’s a soft knock on my

door. “Come in,” I call out, hoping it’s not another crisis that needs immediate attention.

The door opens, and it’s John, looking a little sheepish. “Hey, Abby, you got a minute?”

I nod, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Look, about last night—I lost my cool, and I shouldn’t have

said what I did. I was…riled up, and I didn’t mean it. It was a long evening.”

I eye him skeptically, remembering his cutting remarks and confrontational demeanor. “You think?”

He winces. “I do. And I’m sorry. If you’re willing to forgive an old dog for his foolishness, I promise I’ll

train Karl properly and be more respectful. To everyone.”

The sincerity in his voice tips the balance for me. We’ve been through a lot, John and I, and though

he’s far from perfect, he’s an important part of this restaurant’s soul.

“Alright,” I say, extending my hand across the desk. “Apology accepted. Let’s move on and make this a

great place for everyone. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, shaking my hand firmly.

“Great. Let’s get back out there; dinner service won’t prep itself,” I say, and we both stand to head back

to the kitchen.

As the door swings shut behind him, I can’t help but feel a small sense of relief. One hurdle cleared, but

still so many more to go.

…

The evening begins like any other, the staff bustling around the kitchen as orders start pouring in.

But there’s a palpable change in the atmosphere. John’s tone is softer, more instructive, less caustic. I

see him explaining the finer points of sauce reduction to Karl, who listens intently. My eyes meet John’s

for a moment, and he gives me a nod.

The dinner rush kicks in, and everyone springs into high gear. Plates are flying, stoves are blazing, and

the air is thick with the tantalizing smells of grilled meat, sautéed vegetables, and melting cheese.

But despite the chaos, there’s an underlying current of teamwork that wasn’t there before.

“Table six is ready to go, Abby,” Ethan calls out, sliding the plates onto the counter. I do a quick check

presentation; everything

yell, and servers swoop in

not overbearing, instructing Karl

linguini. “Remember, Karl, it’s all about balance. You want enough

so much that

listen,

his tone earnest. He adjusts

on the plate, a garnish of

beams, clearly pleased

giant leap forward for both of them—and

and John weave around each other in a

to get the meals out, and not

overcooked.

the clock ticks past nine and the last few diners are

back and take it all

first time in a long while, the kitchen is humming

restaurant more than just a place to eat. It’s not perfect, far from it, but

sign of what could be rather than what

from across the kitchen, and this time it’s me who gives the nod of approval.

crinkling at the corners as he allows himself a

…

from the frenetic energy of the kitchen into the

of conversation filling the air. I’m about to congratulate myself on a night going

the

forth.

I rush over, my eyes narrowing with

I rolled my ankle while serving table nine. Just give me five minutes and I’ll get back

she says, grimacing with

at her flushed face, her ankle swelling before my eyes, and shake

up. I’ll

her eyes filled with

Whatever tips you miss out on tonight, I’ll cover. Just go home and

yourself.”

nodding, gratitude flooding

say as she limps out of the restaurant,

tie on an apron and grab a notepad, turning

to be an acquaintance of mine, sitting there with her friends,

owns the place.

Here we go.

again,” I greet, forcing a smile as I approach the

it isn’t Abby,” Emily says, a stiff smile taking over her features. “We were

you.”

you?” I manage an equally stiff smile and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

good things.”

and her friends exchange glances, their eyes tw inkling with

“Of course,” Emily says.

get you started

and a gin and tonic,” Emily says, her tone dripping with

sweetness.

I reply, making a note on

catch snippets of their conversation,

just a fluke, but she’s waiting

to run her own restaurant, but has to

handle running the place. Probably gave it over

you know. Letting Alpha

eyes.”

listen to their words, my hands start to tremble. I head into the