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 stiffens; that sound

into my senses more times than I

entrance of the kitchen, his

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

things toward him whether he means

gravity feels

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

in the air

still on. Thought you might be

the kitchen.

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

on a defensive stance

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

crime scene. “I

practically sore from

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

thick.

I almost feel bad.

you listen,” I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left

much this means to me? This

want to make it about you,

that’s not

you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I

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

to talk,” he finally says. “If

his presence is too

Because last time we talked,

felt about my success.”

happy for

gripping the edge of the counter to

yourself that the competition would get in the way of the

exhaling slowly like he’s measuring

right. I said some stuff last night that

for you, Abby. Way more than you realize.

eyes meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet

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

room for that kind

“I want to be supportive, Abby.

make it right.”

I can’t keep the skepticism out of my

Because those are two

I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t