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

leftovers.

Karl finally breaks the silence,

been for some time.

clearly been up to something huge here

know. Why

my eyes meeting his. There’s no point in

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

one of the finalists to compete to cater the

fraction of a second before his expression smooths over into something

great,

something’s off. His voice lacks the warmth I had

I feared all this time—that he’d prefer

instead of catering it.

you mean it,” I p rod, my own words edged with

I’m proud of you,”

tone says otherwise. What’s going on,

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

This whole catering thing sort of ruins that, though, doesn’t

expected this sort of response from him,

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

making it about

wanted to go to a

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

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

I say. “But this competition… It

television and everything. I’m sorry, but I hoped

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

to you too? I thought you wanted to

the empty kitchen.

murmur. “I’ve told

between us.”

strained, like he’s

you’ve just been keeping me on a string this

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

wince at his words. The memory of our night right here in this kitchen whirls through my

to