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

I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens; that sound has dug

more

standing at the entrance of the kitchen,

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

always has, pulling things toward

feels

There’s a lingering

heavy in the air between

were still on. Thought you might

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I

darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients

a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about

from how many times I’ve

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

thick.

and I almost feel bad. Almost.

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

idea how much this means to me? This

to make it about you, about some

not fair. I

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

my career, and if you can’t be

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

presence is too overwhelming, too

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

felt about my success.”

“I am happy for you, Abby. I wish you

can I believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the counter to

the competition would

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

some stuff last night that I shouldn’t

for you, Abby. Way more than you

his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All

angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You

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

“I want to be

make it right.”

really want to support me?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.

back? Because

I