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; that sound has

my senses more

Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture

fill a space even when they’re trying to make

him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to or not.

feels

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

in the air

still on. Thought you might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

voice laced with more bitterness than I

a defensive stance I wish

discarded apron, the mess

evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about

eyes, the back of them practically sore from how many times

with a layer of irony I

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel bad.

cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling

how much this means to me? This competition,

you want to make it about you, about some

that’s not fair. I

mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping

you can’t be happy about that, then I don’t

finally says. “If you don’t want to, I

him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been trying

time we talked, you made it abundantly

felt about my success.”

stung by my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I wish

believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge

You said yourself that the competition would get in the way

like he’s measuring each breath,

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

for you, Abby. Way more than

of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret that

“Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You

have room

want to

make it right.”

the

me back? Because those

closer, closing the gap between us, and I