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

leftovers.

finally breaks the silence,

probably has been

been up to something huge

Why keep

eyes meeting his. There’s no point in

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

one of the finalists to

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

now. “That’s great, Abby. I’m proud of

something’s off. His voice lacks the warmth I had hoped for, and his

time—that he’d prefer

instead of catering it.

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

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

but your tone says otherwise. What’s going

through his hair. “Look, I wanted to go to

date. This whole catering thing sort of ruins

though I expected this sort of response from him,

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

of making it about

to

just any party, Abby. The Alpha party is a big deal. I thought it could be something special

shoots back, his eyes locked onto mine. “And

I

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

I understand,” he says, turning away from me for a

you wanted to go with me.” His

the empty kitchen.

I murmur. “I’ve told you countless

between us.”

though?” His voice is low and strained, like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Because

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

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

The memory of our night right here in this

me of how it felt to have