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

clearing of a throat. My body stiffens;

into my senses more

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

someone can fill a space even when they’re

pulling things toward him whether

gravity feels

There’s a lingering moment where

unsaid hangs heavy in the air

Thought you might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

doing here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced

defensive stance I wish

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

counter like evidence of a culinary crime

my eyes, the back of them practically sore from how

course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer

thick.

my tone, and I almost feel

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

idea how much this means to me? This competition, this

And you want to make it about you, about

not

didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer

you can’t be happy about that,

he finally says.

can’t look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with

talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

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

gripping the edge

demeanor changed. You said yourself that the competition would get in

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

that I

you, Abby. Way more than you realize.

sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet

erase things, Karl. You being angry about my success

and I don’t have room for that kind of negativity

want to be

make it right.”

the skepticism out of my voice. “Or

win me back? Because those

between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I