Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 67: Crossroads
Abby

The tension in the room feels palpable, a thick curtain of unsaid words and unexplored emotions

hanging in the air between Karl and me. My grip tightens on the knife handle as I glance at the chaos of

ingredients strewn across the counter.

“Tell me first,” I blurt out, wanting to avoid the inevitable confrontation as long as possible. “What are

you doing here? The restaurant closed hours ago.”

Karl sighs and shakes his head, walking past me and over to the line. I watch as he bends down

behind the counter and disappears for a moment, muttering to himself, before he stands back up and

holds something up in the air: his wallet.

“Dropped this earlier,” he says, slipping it into his pocket. “Wanted to come back and make sure it was

here. Now it’s your turn. What are you doing here at…” He glances at his watch. “One o’clock in the

morning?”

I swallow, glancing around at the ingredients and half-cooked dishes all around the kitchen. The sink is

full of empty dishes from failed attempts, the trash can is practically overflowing with said failed

attempts, and the various successful attempts are lined up on the adjacent counter for pictures to keep

in mind for presentation ideas.

“I, um…” I find myself choking up slightly. “I’m just practicing,” I half-lie. “Wanted to test my skills.”

Karl raises an eyebrow. “And waste all these ingredients? You’re not that type of chef.”

I nearly curse out loud. Karl is right; I’ve never been the type to waste ingredients.

Even in the past, when I’ve gone on creative cooking sprees, I would never just throw things away

when the dishes don’t turn out perfectly. There’s a food pantry right down the street that I visit

I lived with Karl,

leftovers.

me, Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged

onto me, and probably has been for some time. Probably since he

Chloe. “You’ve clearly been up to something huge here lately, and

know. Why keep me in the

knife down, my eyes meeting his. There’s no point in avoiding the inevitable

well rip off the band-aid now. “Okay, fine,” I

the finalists to compete to cater the

of a second before his expression smooths over into something

right now. “That’s great, Abby.

had hoped for, and his smile isn’t

this time—that he’d prefer that I go to the

instead of catering it.

like you mean it,” I p rod, my

proud of you,”

but your tone says otherwise.

hair. “Look, I wanted

date. This whole catering thing sort of ruins

even though I expected this sort of response

he really has changed, that he would be

of making

to go to a party?

just any party, Abby. The Alpha party is a big deal. I thought it could be

onto mine.

my chest. “I didn’t forget,” I say. “But this competition… It could

television and everything.

I understand,” he says, turning away from me for a moment.

wanted to go with me.”

the empty kitchen.

There is no ‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times before that it’s not

between us.”

though?” His voice is low and strained, like he’s

you’ve just been keeping me on a string this whole time, giving me vague promises

to jump through. And let’s not forget what happened

his words. The memory of our night right here

me of how it felt to have him