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

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

my senses more times than I

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

how someone can fill a space even when

always has, pulling things toward

that gravity feels

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering

unsaid hangs heavy in

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

the kitchen.

ask, my voice laced with

taking on a defensive stance I wish I didn’t

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

like evidence of a culinary crime scene.

eyes, the back of them practically sore from how many

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

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel

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

much this means to me? This competition, this

you want to make it about

not fair. I

to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him.

if you can’t be

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

his presence is too

time we talked, you made

felt about my success.”

am happy for you, Abby. I wish you would

retort, gripping the edge

that the competition

down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each breath, weighing

some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry.

more than you realize.

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

angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry about my success

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

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

make it right.”

me?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is

to win me back? Because those are two very different

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