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

clearing of a throat.

senses more times than

find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen,

space even when they’re

this gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward him

feels like

lock. There’s a lingering moment where

in the air between

Thought you might

the kitchen.

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

a defensive stance I wish I

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

a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about last

practically sore from how many times

course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I

thick.

and I almost

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

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

to make

that’s not fair. I

mean to do, Karl,”

and if you can’t be happy about that, then I don’t know

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

look away from him; his presence is too

Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

eyes narrow, stung by my accusation. “I am happy for

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

the competition would get in the way of the

exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each breath, weighing

that I shouldn’t have, because I

you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And

for any sign of insincerity. All I find is

just erase things, Karl.

I don’t have room for

his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

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

Because those are

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