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. My body stiffens; that sound

more times than I can

entrance of

someone can fill a space even when they’re trying

things toward him

feels like

lock. There’s a lingering moment where

unsaid hangs heavy in the air between

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

the kitchen.

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

a defensive stance I wish

his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the

the counter like evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about last

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

with a layer of irony

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost

you listen,” I cut him off, my pent-up emotions

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

you want to make

that’s not fair.

didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to

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

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

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

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

felt about my success.”

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

I believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge of

that the competition would

like he’s measuring each breath, weighing each word before it

night that I shouldn’t have, because

Abby. Way more than

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

just erase things, Karl. You

room for

want to be

make it right.”

can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this

Because those are two very

gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath.