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

when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body

into my senses more times

at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture stiff and

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

always has, pulling things toward him whether he

gravity feels

a lingering moment where neither

heavy in the air between

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

the kitchen.

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

stance I

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

crime scene. “I came to

practically sore from how many times I’ve done that in the past

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

thick.

I

I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left

means to me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s everything I’ve

you want to make it

not fair.

mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him.

be happy about that,

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

him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with

time we talked, you made

felt about my success.”

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

I believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my

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

like he’s measuring each

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

Abby. Way more than

insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret

doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry about my success tells

supportive of me, and I don’t have room for

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

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out of

to win me back? Because

the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I