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 senses more times than

find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture

amazing how someone can fill a space even

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

feels like a

a lingering moment where

in the

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

the kitchen.

my voice laced with more bitterness

stance I wish

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

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

practically sore from how many times I’ve done that

coated with

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel

cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over

much this means to me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s

to make it about

not fair.

do, Karl,” I snap,

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

just came to talk,” he finally says. “If you don’t want

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

Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby.

retort, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my hands

competition would get in the

down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring

last night that I

Abby. Way more than you realize. And I’m

searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find

even angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry

supportive of me, and I don’t have room for that kind of negativity in my life

eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out of my voice.

Because those are

steps closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I