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

soft clearing of a throat. My body

my senses more

standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his

someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves

toward him whether

feels like a

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither of us speaks,

hangs heavy in

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

the kitchen.

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

taking on a defensive stance I wish I didn’t

his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the

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

them practically sore from how many times I’ve done

with a

thick.

at my tone, and I almost feel bad.

off, my pent-up emotions spilling over

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

to make it about you, about

that’s not

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

you can’t be happy about that, then

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

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

last time we

felt about my success.”

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

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

changed. You said yourself that the competition would get in the

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

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

more than you realize.

sign of insincerity. All

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

supportive of me, and I don’t have room for that kind of negativity

up, his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby. I messed up. Let

make it right.”

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

me back? Because those are

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