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 throat.

my senses more times than I

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

how someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves smaller.

pulling things toward

that gravity feels like a

a lingering moment where neither of us speaks,

heavy in

you might be here,”

the kitchen.

are you doing here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced with

a defensive stance I

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

like evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk

my eyes, the back of them practically sore from how

I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help

thick.

tone, and I almost feel

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

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

you want to make it about you,

that’s not fair. I

or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I

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

talk,” he finally

away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled

time

felt about my success.”

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

believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge

the competition would get in the

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

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

more than

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

just erase things, Karl. You being angry about

have room for that kind of negativity in my

and unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out of my

me back? Because those

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