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. My body stiffens; that sound

my senses more

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

a space even when they’re trying to

this gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to or

gravity feels like a

our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither

unsaid hangs heavy in the

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

the kitchen.

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

taking on a defensive stance I

discarded apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients

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

sore from how many times I’ve done that in

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

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I almost feel

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

how much this means to me? This

want to make it about you,

that’s not

you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,”

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

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

is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been trying

“You came to talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly

felt about my success.”

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

the edge of

changed. You said yourself that the competition would get

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

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

Way more than you realize.

eyes meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity.

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

me, and I don’t have room for that kind of negativity in my life

eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive,

make it right.”

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

to win me back? Because those

and I involuntarily hold my breath.