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

when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body

my senses more times

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

even when they’re trying to make

has, pulling things toward him

gravity feels like

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment

unsaid hangs heavy in the air between

you might be here,” he finally says, taking a hesitant step

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance I wish I

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

culinary crime scene. “I

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

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

thick.

and I

off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a

me? This competition, this

you want to make it about you, about

that’s not fair. I

mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him.

if you can’t be happy about

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

to talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you

felt about my success.”

accusation. “I am happy for you,

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

demeanor changed. You said yourself that the competition would get in the way of

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

that I

for you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And I’m

any sign of insincerity. All I find is a

things, Karl. You being

don’t have room for that kind of

up, his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be

make it right.”

the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this

back? Because those are two very

us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I