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

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

senses more times than I can

at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture stiff and

fill a space even when they’re

him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to

that gravity feels

a lingering moment

heavy in

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

the kitchen.

here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced with more bitterness than I intend. I cross

defensive stance I

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

crime scene. “I came to talk about last

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

words coated with a layer of irony I can’t

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel bad.

my pent-up emotions spilling over like a

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

want to make it about

not fair. I

or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I

be happy about that, then

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

can’t look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been

last time we talked,

felt about my success.”

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

it?” I retort, gripping the edge

competition would get in the way of

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

that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry.

for you, Abby. Way more

sign of insincerity. All I find

“Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry

don’t have room for that kind of negativity in my life right

want to be supportive, Abby. I messed up. Let

make it right.”

me?” I can’t keep the skepticism

back? Because

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