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

dishes, and when I lived with Karl, the

leftovers.

Abby.” Karl finally breaks

me, and probably has been for some time. Probably since he found

Chloe. “You’ve clearly been up to something huge

know. Why

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

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

finalists to compete to cater

second before his expression smooths over

decipher right now. “That’s great, Abby. I’m

had hoped for, and his smile isn’t quite

feared all this time—that he’d prefer that I go to the Alpha

instead of catering it.

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

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

tone says otherwise.

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

sort of ruins that, though, doesn’t

sort of

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

of making it

upset because you wanted to go to a party?

The Alpha party is a

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

didn’t forget,” I

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

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

you too? I thought you wanted to go with me.” His voice rises with each word,

the empty kitchen.

is no ‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times before that it’s not going to

between us.”

His voice is low and strained, like

like you’ve just been keeping me on a string this whole time, giving me

And let’s not forget what

night right here in this kitchen

it felt to have him close