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

That’s when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens; that sound

senses more times than

of the kitchen, his posture stiff

space even when

him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he

that gravity feels

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

hangs heavy in

might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

I ask, my voice laced with more bitterness

stance I wish

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

a culinary crime scene. “I came to

from how many times I’ve done that in

course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of

thick.

tone, and I almost

listen,” I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left

idea how much this means to me?

want to make it about you, about some

that’s not fair.

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

can’t be happy

I just came to talk,” he finally says.

away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been trying

time we talked,

felt about my success.”

am happy for you,

edge of the counter to

said yourself that the competition

measuring each breath, weighing each

stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was

for you, Abby. Way more than you

sign of insincerity. All I find

things, Karl. You being angry about my

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

“I want to be supportive,

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this just

Because those are two very different

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