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

it—a soft clearing of a

more times than I

the entrance of the kitchen, his posture stiff and his eyes

a space even when they’re trying

has, pulling things toward him whether he means

that gravity feels

lock. There’s a lingering moment where

unsaid hangs heavy in the

Thought you might be here,” he finally says, taking a hesitant

the kitchen.

my voice laced with more bitterness than I intend.

stance

sighs, his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients

of a culinary crime scene. “I came to

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

with a layer of irony I

thick.

I almost feel bad.

cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched. “Do you

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

And you want to make it about

not

you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap,

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

came to talk,” he finally says.

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

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

felt about my success.”

eyes narrow, stung by my accusation. “I am happy for you,

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

competition would get

like he’s measuring each breath, weighing each

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

for you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And

any sign of insincerity. All

doesn’t just erase things, Karl.

of me, and I don’t have room

and unwavering. “I want to be supportive,

make it right.”

the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this

to win me back? Because those

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