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

I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat.

senses more times than I can

at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture

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

toward him whether he means to or not.

that gravity feels

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a

heavy in

lights were still on. Thought you might be here,”

the kitchen.

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

taking on a defensive stance I wish I didn’t

apron, the mess in the sink, and

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

sore from how many times I’ve done that in

“Of course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with

thick.

and I almost feel bad.

off, my pent-up emotions

means to me? This competition, this

you want to make it about you, about some

not fair.

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

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

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

is too overwhelming, too

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

felt about my success.”

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

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

said yourself that the competition would get in

he’s measuring

right. I said some stuff last night that I

for you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And I’m

meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find

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

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

“I want to be supportive,

make it right.”

the skepticism out of my voice. “Or

win me back? Because those are two

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