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

of a throat. My body stiffens; that sound has

into my senses more times than I

of the kitchen, his posture stiff

someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to

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

feels

lock. There’s a

heavy in the

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

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I wish I

his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients sca

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

my eyes, the back of them practically sore from how many times I’ve

did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help but slather

thick.

at my tone, and I almost

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

me?

make it about

not

what you did or didn’t mean to do,

you can’t be happy about that, then

came to talk,” he finally

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

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 wish you would believe

edge of the counter to keep my hands from

yourself that the competition would get in the way

measuring each breath, weighing each word before it

mouth. “You’re right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry. But

Way more than you realize. And I’m

searching for any sign of insincerity. All I

Karl. You being angry

have room for that kind of

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

make it right.”

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

Because those are two very different

the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold