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.

into my senses more times than I

Karl standing at the entrance of

even when they’re trying to

toward him whether he means to or not.

that gravity feels like

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a

in the air

the lights were still on. Thought you might be here,” he

the kitchen.

doing here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced

stance

darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the

of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk

back of them practically sore from how many times I’ve

I murmur, the words coated with

thick.

my tone, and I almost feel bad.

him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a

to me? This competition, this

want to make it about

that’s not fair. I

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

you can’t be happy about that,

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

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

Because last time we

felt about my success.”

am happy for

gripping the edge

the competition would

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

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

you, Abby. Way more than you

for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret that somehow

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

not supportive of me, and I don’t have room

want to be supportive, Abby.

make it right.”

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

me back? Because

steps closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my