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

when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens; that

my senses more times than I can

find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen,

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

pulling things toward him whether he means to or

feels like a

eyes lock. There’s a

unsaid hangs heavy in the

Thought you might be here,” he finally says,

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I wish I didn’t

his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the mess

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

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

I murmur, the words coated with a layer

thick.

tone, and I almost feel bad. Almost. “Abby,

cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left

to me? This

make

that’s not fair.

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

be happy about

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

him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled

time we talked, you made it

felt about my success.”

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

I retort, gripping the edge of the

You said yourself that the competition would get in the way

looks down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each breath, weighing

mouth. “You’re right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was

Way more than you realize. And I’m

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

things, Karl. You being

and I don’t have room

looks up, his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

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

me back? Because those are two very

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