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

and when I lived with Karl, the servants and

leftovers.

as well tell me, Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with impatience. I

has been for some

huge here lately, and I’m starting to

Why keep

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

the band-aid now. “Okay, fine,” I mutter, wiping

one of the finalists to compete to cater the

eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his expression smooths over into something I

great,

His voice lacks the warmth I had hoped

time—that he’d prefer that I go

instead of catering it.

like you mean it,” I p rod, my own words edged with a surprising bitterness

proud of

your tone says otherwise. What’s going

hand through his hair. “Look, I

catering thing sort

this sort of response from him, I’m

part of me that hoped that he really has changed, that he would be genuinely happy for

of making it about

wanted to

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

shoots back, his eyes locked onto mine. “And besides, you

“I didn’t forget,” I say. “But this

television and everything.

understand,” he says, turning away from me for a moment. “But what about us?

wanted to go with me.” His voice rises with each

the empty kitchen.

I murmur. “I’ve told

between us.”

voice is low and strained, like he’s trying to hold himself

to me like you’ve just been keeping me on a string this whole

And let’s not forget what

words. The memory of our night right here in this kitchen whirls

me of how it felt to have him close