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;

senses more times

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 trying to make

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

feels like a

There’s a lingering moment where neither of us

in

might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

I ask, my voice laced with more bitterness than I intend. I

stance I wish

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

of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk

the back of them practically sore from

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

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel bad.

pent-up emotions spilling over like

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

you want to make it about you,

not fair.

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

if you can’t be

to talk,” he finally says. “If you

too overwhelming, too filled with

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

felt about my success.”

eyes narrow, stung by my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I wish you would believe

it?” I retort, gripping the edge

changed. You said yourself that the competition

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

I said some stuff last night that I

more than you realize. And I’m

of insincerity. All

doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You

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

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

make it right.”

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

me back? Because those are two

closing the gap between us, and I