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

clearing of a

senses more times than I

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

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

pulling things toward him whether he means

that gravity feels

pulse quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering

heavy in

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

the kitchen.

my voice laced with more bitterness than I

defensive stance I wish

darting to the discarded apron, the mess

a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about

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

you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a

thick.

I almost feel

emotions spilling over like a pot left

me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s

And you want to make it about you, about

not fair. I

care what you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer

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

to talk,” he finally says. “If you

away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been

“You came to talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

happy for you, Abby. I wish

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

yourself that the competition would get in the way of

down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each

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

for you, Abby. Way more

searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a

Karl. You being

I don’t have room for that

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

make it right.”

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

to win me back? Because those are two

the gap between us, and I involuntarily