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

a throat. My body stiffens; that sound

more

find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture stiff and his eyes

how someone can fill a space even when they’re

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

feels like

a lingering moment where neither of us speaks,

unsaid hangs heavy in

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

the kitchen.

here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced with more bitterness than I intend. I

a defensive stance I wish

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

crime scene. “I came to talk about last

practically sore from how many times

words coated with

thick.

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

pent-up emotions spilling over like

much this means to me?

And you want to make it about

that’s not fair.

don’t care what you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to

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

he finally says. “If you

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

Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear how

felt about my success.”

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

it?” I retort, gripping the edge of

competition would

measuring each breath,

night that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry. But

Way more than you realize. And

of insincerity.

just erase things, Karl. You being

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

intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby. I

make it right.”

to support me?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this just

me back? Because those are two very

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