#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
and when I lived with Karl, the servants and guests were always
leftovers.
well tell me, Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with impatience.
probably has been for some time. Probably since he found me
and Chloe. “You’ve clearly been up to something huge here
know. Why
my eyes meeting his. There’s no point in avoiding the inevitable
I might as well rip off the band-aid now. “Okay, fine,”
one of the finalists to
a second before
“That’s great, Abby. I’m proud of
the warmth I had
he’d
instead of catering it.
I p rod, my own words edged with a
I said I’m proud of
but your tone says otherwise. What’s going
I
whole catering thing sort of ruins that,
this sort of response from him, I’m still taken
he really has
of making
because you wanted to go to
a big deal. I
shoots back, his eyes locked onto mine.
in my chest. “I didn’t forget,” I say. “But this competition…
It’s going to be on television and everything. I’m sorry, but I hoped that
course I understand,” he says, turning away from me
to go with me.”
the empty kitchen.
is no ‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times
between us.”
His voice is low and strained, like he’s trying
me like you’ve just been keeping me on a string this whole time,
let’s not forget what happened the other
wince at his words. The memory of our night right here in this kitchen whirls through
felt to have him close like that
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