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

senses more times than I can

find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen,

fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves smaller.

gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means

gravity feels like a

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

heavy in the air between

lights were still on. Thought you might be here,”

the kitchen.

my voice laced with more bitterness than

a defensive stance

his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink,

a culinary crime scene. “I came

of them practically sore from how many times I’ve done that in the

you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help

thick.

at my tone, and I almost feel bad. Almost.

listen,” I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched. “Do you

me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s everything

want to make it about

that’s not fair.

did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him. “Right now, this

be happy about that, then I don’t know what to

just came to talk,” he finally says. “If you

him; his presence is too overwhelming,

“You came to talk? Really? Because last time we talked,

felt about my success.”

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

I retort, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my hands from shaking.

yourself that the competition

he’s measuring

that I

more

for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret that somehow

doesn’t just erase things, Karl.

room for that kind of negativity in my life right

his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this just

me back? Because those are two very

I involuntarily