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

more

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

space even when they’re trying to

things toward him whether

that gravity feels

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

heavy in the

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

the kitchen.

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

defensive stance I wish I

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

a culinary crime scene.

my eyes, the back of them practically sore from how

words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help but

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I

him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over

me? This competition, this

you want to make it about you, about some

that’s not fair.

do, Karl,” I

career, and if you can’t be happy about that, then

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

can’t look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too

to talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it

felt about my success.”

happy for you, Abby. I

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

You said yourself that the competition would get

slowly like he’s measuring each

that I shouldn’t have, because I was

Abby. Way more than you

insincerity. All I find is a

doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry about

have room for that kind of negativity in my

his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby. I messed

make it right.”

I can’t keep the skepticism out of my

back? Because those are two very different

gap between us, and I involuntarily