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

hear it—a soft clearing of a throat.

more times

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

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

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

that gravity feels like a

There’s a lingering moment where

in the air between

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

the kitchen.

Karl?” I ask, my voice laced with

stance I wish

apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients sca

a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk

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

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

thick.

my tone, and I almost feel

listen,” I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like

to me? This

make it about you,

that’s not fair. I

didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap,

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

he finally

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

“You came to talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it

felt about my success.”

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

gripping the edge of the counter to keep my hands from

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

exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each breath,

I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t

Way more than you realize. And I’m

his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a

angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl.

have room for that kind of negativity in my

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

make it right.”

want to support me?” I can’t keep the

win me back? Because those are two

I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t lie and say