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

donate dishes, and when I lived with Karl, the servants and

leftovers.

finally breaks the silence, his voice

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

to something huge here lately, and I’m starting to feel

know. Why keep me

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

the band-aid now. “Okay, fine,” I mutter, wiping my hands on

of the finalists to compete to cater the

eyes widen for a fraction of a second

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

voice lacks the warmth I had hoped

can sense what I feared all this time—that he’d prefer that I go to the Alpha party

instead of catering it.

it,” I p rod, my own words edged

proud of you,” he

your tone says otherwise.

“Look, I wanted to go to the Alpha party

catering thing sort

expected this sort of response from him,

that hoped that he really

making it

you wanted to go to a party?

a big deal. I thought it

eyes locked onto mine.

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

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

understand,” he says, turning away from me for a moment. “But

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

the empty kitchen.

I murmur. “I’ve told you countless times before

between us.”

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

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

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 him