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

senses more times than I can

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

amazing how someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves

always has, pulling things toward him whether he means

gravity feels

lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither

heavy in the

still on. Thought you might be here,” he

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I

darting to the discarded apron, the

counter like evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came

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

“Of course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help but

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel bad.

cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched. “Do

idea how much this means to me? This competition,

And you want to make it

that’s not

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

and my career, and if you can’t be happy about that, then

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

away from him; his presence is too overwhelming,

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

felt about my success.”

narrow, stung by my accusation. “I am happy

it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the

said yourself that the competition would get in the way of the

he’s measuring each breath, weighing each word before

that I

you, Abby. Way more than you realize.

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

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

room for that kind

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

make it right.”

the skepticism out of my voice. “Or

back? Because those are two very different

between us, and I involuntarily