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

of a throat.

senses more times

up, I find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture

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

toward him whether

gravity feels

as our eyes lock. There’s a

hangs heavy in the air between

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

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I wish

to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink,

a culinary crime scene. “I

the back of them practically sore from how many

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

thick.

I almost feel

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

me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s everything I’ve

to make it about

that’s not

to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer

be happy about that,

he finally says. “If you

too overwhelming, too filled

Really? Because last time we talked, you made

felt about my success.”

am happy for you, Abby. I

edge of the counter to keep

competition

exhaling slowly like he’s measuring

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

Abby. Way more than

searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret

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

I don’t have room for that kind of negativity in my life

“I want

make it right.”

can’t keep the skepticism out of my

me back? Because those are

the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I