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

when I lived with Karl, the servants and guests were

leftovers.

breaks the silence, his voice tinged with impatience. I

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

to something huge here lately, and I’m starting to

last to know. Why

knife down, my eyes meeting his. There’s

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

the finalists to compete to

second before his expression smooths over

“That’s great, Abby. I’m proud

warmth I had hoped for, and his smile isn’t quite reaching

this time—that he’d prefer that I

instead of catering it.

don’t sound like you mean it,” I p rod, my own words edged with a

of you,” he

but your tone says otherwise. What’s going

“Look, I wanted to go to the Alpha party with

sort of ruins that, though, doesn’t

even though I expected this sort of

me that hoped that he really has changed, that he would be

instead of making it about

to go to

not just any party, Abby. The Alpha party is a big deal. I thought it

eyes locked onto mine. “And besides, you promised.

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

going to be on television and everything. I’m sorry, but I hoped that

understand,” he says, turning away from me

you too? I thought you wanted to go with

the empty kitchen.

is no ‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times before that

between us.”

and strained, like he’s trying to hold himself

keeping me on a string this whole time, giving me vague promises

let’s not forget what

night right here in this kitchen

felt to have him