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 throat. My body stiffens; that sound has

my senses more times

of the kitchen, his posture stiff and his eyes

amazing how someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves smaller.

him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to

that gravity feels

eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither

unsaid hangs heavy in

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

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I wish

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

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

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

the words coated with

thick.

I almost

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

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

want to make it

not fair. I

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

can’t be happy about that, then I don’t

came to talk,” he finally says. “If

presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history

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

felt about my success.”

narrow, stung by my accusation. “I am happy

the edge of the

demeanor changed. You said yourself that the competition

like he’s measuring each breath,

night that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry.

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

insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret that somehow

erase things, Karl. You being angry about my success tells

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

unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

the skepticism out of my

to win me back? Because those

steps closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t