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

when I lived with Karl, the servants and guests were

leftovers.

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

me, and probably has been for some

clearly been up to something huge here lately, and I’m starting

know. Why keep me in

put the knife down, my eyes meeting his. There’s

well rip off the band-aid now. “Okay,

to compete

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

now. “That’s great, Abby.

I had hoped for, and his smile

time—that he’d

instead of catering it.

I p rod, my own words edged with a surprising bitterness

of you,”

your tone says otherwise. What’s

hair. “Look, I wanted to go

thing sort of

though I expected this sort of response from him,

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

of making

upset because you wanted to go to

Abby. The Alpha party is a big

locked onto mine. “And

pounds in my chest. “I didn’t forget,” I say. “But this competition… It could be huge

to be on television and everything. I’m sorry, but

he says, turning away from me

wanted to go with me.” His voice rises with each

the empty kitchen.

“I’ve told you countless times before that

between us.”

though?” His voice is low and strained, like

keeping me on

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

night right here in this kitchen whirls

felt to