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 throat.

senses more times

the entrance of the kitchen, his posture

amazing how someone can fill a space even when they’re

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

feels

lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither of

hangs heavy in the

might be here,”

the kitchen.

I ask, my voice laced

defensive stance

discarded apron, the mess in the sink,

culinary crime scene. “I came to talk

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

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

thick.

tone, and I

emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched. “Do

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

make it

not fair. I

don’t care what you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him. “Right now, this

can’t be happy about that, then

finally says. “If you don’t want to,

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

Really? Because last time we talked,

felt about my success.”

by my accusation. “I am happy for

gripping the edge of the counter to keep

competition would get in

exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each

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

more than you

eyes meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All

erase things, Karl. You being

supportive of me, and I don’t have room for that kind of negativity in my

intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive,

make it right.”

support me?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of

back? Because those are

between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t