Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 68: Reconciliation
Abby

The night weighs heavy on me, each mile that separates Karl and me adding to the burden I didn’t

think I’d ever have to bear again. I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed, trying to bury

the memories of our argument and the sting of his words. It’s infuriating that he would have the

audacity to be mad about my accomplishment.

He should be thrilled for me.

Shouldn’t he?

…

I wake up the next day with dark clouds lingering in my head, mirroring the ones outside my window. I

head straight to the kitchen to work it all off. When emotions get messy, the kitchen has always been

my sanctuary. But today, even my sanctuary seems to be turning against me.

The day passes by in a blur. Before I know it, the restaurant is empty, the day having been a whirlwind

of rushes and demanding customers. Finally, I find myself alone amidst a storm of spices, ingredients,

and equipment. At least now, in the empty kitchen, I can think.

But the thing is, I’ve attempted this delicate souffle five times now. It keeps collapsing.

“D amn it!” I snap, tossing my whisk into the sink with an unwarranted amount of aggression. My apron

follows, flung across the counter as I grip the edge, my knuckles going white.

This is one of the key dishes I want to practice for the competition. I’ve never had good luck with

souffles, and it seems as though that bad luck is still getting in the way.

My heart is pounding like I’ve run a marathon, and I feel so stu pidly vulnerable standing here, defeated

by eggs and sugar. Tears of frustration are dangerously close, and I hate myself for it.

I can handle a hectic dinner rush, a dysfunctional kitchen, a competition. But to add Karl’s drama onto

it? It’s too much.

“Stop being such a drama queen, Abby,” I chastise myself aloud, rolling my eyes at my own

That’s when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens;

into my senses more times than I can

standing at the entrance of the kitchen,

even when they’re trying to make themselves smaller.

always has, pulling things toward him whether he means

that gravity feels

our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither of us

heavy in the air between

saw the lights were still on. Thought you might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

are you doing here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced with more bitterness than I

on a defensive stance I wish

eyes darting to the discarded apron, the

culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about

the back of them practically sore from

coated with a layer of irony I can’t

thick.

I almost feel bad. Almost.

off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like

means to me? This competition,

want to make it

that’s not

didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping

my career, and if you can’t be happy

to talk,” he finally says. “If you

presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been

talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly

felt about my success.”

accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I wish you would believe

it?” I retort, gripping the edge of

You said yourself that the competition would get in the way

like he’s measuring each breath, weighing each

last night that

more than you

his, searching for any sign of insincerity.

Karl. You being

have room for that kind of negativity

and unwavering. “I want

make it right.”

want to support me?” I can’t keep the

me back? Because those are two

gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t lie and