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

hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body

my senses more times than

at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture stiff and

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

always has, pulling things toward him whether

that gravity feels like

lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither of us speaks,

heavy in

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

the kitchen.

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

stance I wish I

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

a culinary crime scene. “I came

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

“Of course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel

pent-up emotions spilling over like a

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

to make it about you, about some

not fair. I

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

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

to talk,” he finally says. “If

look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming,

time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

happy

retort, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my hands from

the competition would get in the way of

down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each breath, weighing each word before

mouth. “You’re right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t

Way more than you

any sign of insincerity. All I find

Karl. You

and I don’t have room

want to be supportive, Abby. I

make it right.”

support me?” I can’t keep the

back? Because those are two very

steps closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath.