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

soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens; that sound has dug

into my senses more times than I

Karl standing at the entrance of

fill a space even when they’re trying to make

gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward

feels like a

eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither

heavy in the air

saw the lights were still on. Thought you might be here,” he finally says, taking a hesitant

the kitchen.

I ask, my voice laced with

on a defensive stance I wish

discarded apron, the mess

culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about

of them practically sore from how many times I’ve done that

with a layer of irony I can’t help

thick.

I almost

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

want to make it

that’s not fair.

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

you can’t be

he finally

is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been

Because last time we talked,

felt about my success.”

stung by my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I wish you would

it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the counter

You said yourself that the competition would get in the way

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

last night that I shouldn’t have, because

more than you realize.

eyes meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity.

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

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

looks up, his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be

make it right.”

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

to win me back? Because

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