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

I lived with Karl,

leftovers.

might as well tell me, Abby.” Karl finally breaks the silence, his

that he’s onto me, and probably has been for

Chloe. “You’ve clearly been up to something huge here lately, and I’m starting

know. Why

eyes meeting his.

rip off the band-aid now. “Okay,

finalists to compete to cater

a second before his expression smooths over into something I

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

off. His voice lacks the warmth I had hoped for, and his smile isn’t quite

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

instead of catering it.

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

proud of you,” he retorts, clearly irritated

says otherwise. What’s going on,

running a hand through his hair. “Look, I

date. This whole catering thing sort of ruins that, though,

some reason, even though I expected this sort of response from him,

hoped that he really has changed, that he would

making

because you wanted to go to a party?

a big deal. I

onto mine.

pounds in my chest. “I didn’t forget,” I say. “But

It’s going to be on television and everything. I’m sorry, but I hoped that you

away from me for a moment.

thought you wanted to go with me.” His voice rises

the empty kitchen.

is no ‘us’, Karl,” I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times before

between us.”

though?” His voice is low and strained, like he’s

on a string this

not

his words. The memory of our night right

how it felt to have him close like that