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

with Karl, the servants and guests were always

leftovers.

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

has been for some time. Probably

clearly been up to something huge

know. Why keep me

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

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

the finalists to compete

a fraction of a second before his expression smooths over

now. “That’s great, Abby.

I had hoped for, and his

he’d prefer that

instead of catering it.

rod, my

I’m proud of you,” he retorts, clearly

but your tone says otherwise. What’s going on,

running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wanted to go

whole catering thing sort of ruins

some reason, even though I expected this sort of response from him, I’m still

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

of making it

upset because you wanted to go to a party?

party is a big

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

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

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

says, turning away from me for a moment. “But what about

something to you too? I thought you wanted to go with me.” His voice rises

the empty kitchen.

‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times

between us.”

you, though?” His voice is low and strained, like he’s trying to hold himself

on a string this whole time, giving me vague promises

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

of our night

me of how it felt to have him close