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

senses more times than I

entrance of the kitchen, his posture

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

things toward

gravity feels like a

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where

in the

on. Thought you might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

doing here, Karl?” I ask, my voice

taking on a defensive stance I

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

of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about

sore from how many

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

thick.

and I almost feel bad. Almost.

off, my pent-up emotions spilling over

much this means to me? This competition,

to make it about you, about

not

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

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

finally says. “If you don’t want

is too overwhelming, too filled

“You came to talk? Really? Because last time

felt about my success.”

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

gripping the edge of

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

slowly like he’s measuring

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

Way more than

for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret

just erase things, Karl. You being

have room for that kind of

want to be supportive, Abby. I messed up. Let

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out of my

back? Because those

closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t