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

a throat.

my senses more times than I

of the kitchen, his posture stiff and his eyes

someone can fill a space even when

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

that gravity feels

quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering

hangs heavy in the air between

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

stance I

discarded apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients

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

eyes, the back of them practically sore from how many

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

thick.

at my tone, and I almost

emotions spilling over like a pot

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

make

not

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

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

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

can’t look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a

came to talk? Really? Because last time

felt about my success.”

my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I wish you would

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

yourself that the competition would get in the way of the

down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring

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

you, Abby. Way more

for any sign of insincerity. All

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

I don’t have room for that kind of negativity

unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby. I messed up.

make it right.”

keep the skepticism out

me back? Because those are two very

and I involuntarily hold