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 body stiffens;

into my senses more times than I

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

can fill a space even when they’re trying

things toward him whether he means to or not. And

that gravity feels like a

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

hangs heavy in

still on. Thought you might

the kitchen.

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

a defensive stance

the discarded apron, the mess

of a culinary crime scene. “I came to

my eyes, the back of them practically sore from

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

thick.

at my tone, and I

cut him off, my pent-up emotions

me? This

want to make it about you,

that’s not

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

me and my career, and if you can’t be happy

just came to talk,” he finally says. “If you

presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history

Really? Because last time we

felt about my success.”

am happy for you, Abby. I

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

the competition would get in the way of the

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

mouth. “You’re right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because

Abby. Way more than you

sign of insincerity. All I find is

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

have room for that kind of negativity in my

unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby.

make it right.”

I can’t keep the skepticism

back? Because those are

us, and I involuntarily hold