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

That’s when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens; that

senses more

entrance of the kitchen, his

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

has, pulling things toward him whether he means

feels

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

heavy in

still on. Thought you might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

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

taking on a defensive stance I

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

culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about last

from how many

murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help

thick.

my tone, and I almost feel bad. Almost. “Abby,

emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched.

me? This competition,

want to make it about you,

not

to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him. “Right now,

and if you can’t be happy about that, then I don’t

finally says. “If you

can’t look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled

Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly

felt about my success.”

by my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I

I retort, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my hands from

the competition would

slowly like he’s measuring each breath,

said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t

you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And

sign of insincerity.

Karl.

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

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

make it right.”

really want to support me?” I can’t keep the

Because

closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily