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

find Karl standing at the entrance of the

how someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves

him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to or

gravity feels like

pulse quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where

heavy in the air

might be here,” he finally says, taking

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I

the mess in the sink, and the ingredients

crime scene.

practically sore from how many times I’ve

murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I

thick.

at my tone, and I almost feel bad.

pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched. “Do

how much this means to me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s

want to make it about you, about some

that’s not

mean to do, Karl,” I

and my career, and if you can’t be

just came to talk,” he finally

him; his presence is too overwhelming,

Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

“I am happy for

I believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the counter

You said yourself that the competition would get in the way

slowly like he’s measuring each breath, weighing

some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was

Abby. Way more than you realize.

searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is

even angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry about

of me, and I don’t have room for that kind

eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby. I messed up. Let

make it right.”

keep the

Because those are

and I involuntarily hold my