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

of a throat. My

into my senses more

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

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

gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means

that gravity feels

There’s a lingering moment where neither of

heavy in

you might be here,” he finally

the kitchen.

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

taking on a defensive stance I

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

like evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about last

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

the words coated with a layer of

thick.

tone, and I

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

me? This

make it

not fair. I

you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him. “Right now,

be

he finally says. “If

too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been trying

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

felt about my success.”

stung by my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I

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

You said yourself that the competition would get in the way of the

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

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

for you, Abby. Way more than you realize.

for any sign of insincerity. All I

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

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

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

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this just

me back? Because

steps closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath.