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 body stiffens; that sound

my senses more times than I can

standing at the entrance of the

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

gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward

gravity feels

our eyes lock. There’s a lingering

in

still on. Thought you might be here,” he finally says,

the kitchen.

ask, my voice laced

defensive stance

the mess in

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

practically sore from how many times

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

thick.

and I almost feel

off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot

much this means to me?

make it about

that’s not fair. I

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

can’t be happy about that, then I

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

presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a

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

felt about my success.”

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

the edge of the counter to keep my hands

You said yourself that the competition would

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

right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because

you, Abby. Way more than you

sign of insincerity. All

Karl.

supportive of me, and I don’t have room for that kind

looks up, his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to

make it right.”

I can’t keep the skepticism out

to win me back? Because those are

gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my