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

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

my senses more

the entrance of the kitchen,

a space even when

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

that gravity feels like a

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither of

hangs heavy in

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

the kitchen.

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

defensive stance I wish

eyes darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink,

like evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came

from how

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

thick.

I almost

emotions spilling over like

how much this means to me? This competition,

to make it

that’s not fair. I

did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I

you can’t be happy about that, then

finally says. “If you don’t want to,

look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been trying

Because last time

felt about my success.”

stung by my accusation. “I am happy

I retort, gripping the edge of the

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

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

right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry.

for you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And

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

things, Karl. You being angry about

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

unwavering. “I want

make it right.”

to support me?” I can’t keep the skepticism

win me back? Because those are two

and I involuntarily hold my