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

of a throat. My body stiffens; that sound has

my senses more times than I can

of the

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

about him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to or not.

gravity feels like

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

hangs heavy in the air

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

the kitchen.

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

stance

apron, the mess in the sink, and

of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk

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

words coated with a layer of irony

thick.

at my tone, and I almost

I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling

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

make

that’s not fair. I

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

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

talk,” he finally says. “If

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

Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly

felt about my success.”

happy for you, Abby. I wish

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

yourself that the competition would get

like he’s measuring each breath,

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

for you, Abby. Way more

meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret that

Karl. You being angry about my success tells

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

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

make it right.”

I can’t keep the skepticism out of

back? Because those are two very

between us, and I involuntarily hold my