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

lived with Karl, the servants and

leftovers.

Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with impatience. I

has been for some time. Probably since he

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

know. Why keep

my eyes meeting his. There’s

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

the finalists to compete to

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

right now. “That’s great,

lacks the warmth I had hoped for, and his

he’d prefer that I go to the Alpha party

instead of catering it.

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

proud of you,” he retorts,

but your tone says otherwise. What’s going

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

date. This whole catering thing sort of ruins that,

I expected this sort of response from him, I’m still

hoped that he really has changed, that he would be genuinely happy

instead of making it about

you wanted to

party, Abby. The Alpha party is a big

onto mine. “And besides, you promised. Or did

forget,” I say. “But this competition… It could

and everything. I’m sorry, but I hoped

says, turning away from me

wanted to go with me.” His voice

the empty kitchen.

told you countless times before that it’s not going

between us.”

strained,

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

jump through. And let’s not forget

The memory of our night right here in this kitchen whirls

how it felt to have