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;

my senses more times than I

I find Karl standing at the entrance of

even when they’re

toward him whether he

that gravity feels like a

as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering

heavy in the air

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

the kitchen.

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

defensive stance I

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

the counter like evidence of a culinary crime

back of them practically sore from how

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

thick.

flinches at my tone, and I

cut him off, my pent-up emotions

means to me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s everything I’ve

And you want to make it about

not fair. I

do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to

you can’t be happy about that,

came to talk,” he finally

from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled

talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear

felt about my success.”

stung by my accusation. “I am happy for

it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the counter

that the competition would get in

like he’s measuring

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

more than you

any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret

even angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry about my success

I don’t have room

intense and unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

the skepticism

to win me back? Because those are two very different

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