#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
lived with Karl, the servants and guests were always
leftovers.
might as well tell me, Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence,
onto me, and probably has been for some time. Probably since he found me
to something huge here lately, and
Why keep me in the
meeting his.
I might as well rip off the band-aid now.
to compete to cater
eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his expression smooths over
great, Abby.
something’s off. His voice lacks the warmth I had hoped for, and his smile isn’t quite reaching
this time—that he’d prefer that
instead of catering it.
I p rod, my own words
said I’m proud of you,”
tone says
“Look, I wanted to go to
thing sort of ruins that,
I expected this sort of
me that hoped that he really has changed,
making
because you wanted to
a big
shoots back, his eyes locked onto mine. “And besides, you promised.
“I didn’t forget,” I say. “But
everything.
me for a moment. “But what about
too? I thought you wanted to go with me.” His
the empty kitchen.
“I’ve told you countless times before
between us.”
His voice is low and strained,
me on a string this whole time,
And let’s not forget what happened
wince at his words. The memory of our night right
how it felt to
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