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. My body stiffens; that sound has

my senses more

Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his

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

about him, always has, pulling things toward

that gravity feels like

eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither

heavy in

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

the kitchen.

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

a defensive stance I wish

the discarded apron, the mess in the

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

back of them practically sore from how many times I’ve done that

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

thick.

my tone, and I

I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched.

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

make it

not fair.

do,

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

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

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

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

felt about my success.”

am happy for you, Abby. I wish you

the edge of the counter to keep my hands from

You said yourself that the competition would

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

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

you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And

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

things, Karl. You being angry about my success

and I don’t have room for that

intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive,

make it right.”

I can’t keep the skepticism out of

back? Because those are two very

gap between us, and I