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 stiffens; that

into my senses more times than I

Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture

someone can fill a space even when they’re

him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to or not.

feels like

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

unsaid hangs heavy in the air between

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

the kitchen.

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

taking on a defensive stance

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

crime scene. “I came

of them practically sore from

I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help

thick.

I

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

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

want to make

that’s not

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

me and my career, and if you can’t be

came to talk,” he finally says. “If you don’t

him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history

Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear how

felt about my success.”

“I am happy for you, Abby.

gripping the edge of the counter to keep my

competition would get in the way of

measuring each breath, weighing each word before

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

you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And I’m

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

doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You

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

“I want to be supportive, Abby. I

make it right.”

want to support me?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of

me back? Because those are two

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