Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 70: Soufflés and Heartaches
Abby

“Let me help you.”

Karl’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. Karl, of all people, wants to help me prepare for the competition

that we were only just arguing about? I can’t believe it.

“You’re joking,” I murmur.

Karl shakes his head, his eyes darting down to the failure of a souffle sitting between us. “Nope. Not

joking. Do you want my help or not?”

Part of me wants to accept his offer, but another part of me, perhaps the more logical part, decides that

maybe it’s not the best idea. I’m angry right now over my argument with Karl and this da mned souffle,

and I know that I wouldn’t exactly be the best kitchen partner tonight.

“I’m fine, Karl. Just a little tired,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Besides, you’ve been working all day. You can

head home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” he says quietly, sliding the souffle back toward me from across the cold

metallic counter. “I’m not tired, and home is boring. Let me help.”

I pause. I know that I should push him away and keep working on my own, not only so I can focus fully

on my preparations for the competition but also so we can both cool off after our arguments. But

something stops me. Maybe it’s the sincere look in his soft brown eyes.

“Sure,” I finally mutter, nodding. “I guess I could use some help.”

Karl doesn’t need to be told twice. I watch for a moment as he slips off his jacket, revealing his sinewy

biceps peeking out from beneath his short sleeves. I have to look away before I get too attached to his

image, and refocus my attention on my fourth attempt at making a souffle while he washes his hands.

Before I know it, the eggs and other ingredients are laid out before me, my whisk deftly beating the

eggs into a golden mixture.

“You know, I used to make souffles as a kid,” Karl says out of nowhere.

“You made souffles?” I can’t even begin to keep the surprise out of my voice. Karl rarely ever cooked

certainly never brought it up to me. “You never mentioned that

we were together.”

mom used to make them all the time when I was little. It was

souffles ever,” he confesses, almost shyly. “Would you like

one up?”

curiosity gets the better of me.

sets to work, skillfully separating the egg yolks from the whites, stirring the flour

care. I watch in amazement;

at the

oven dings, and Karl retrieves the dish, setting it on the counter. The souffle

a promise of the fluffy, airy

it and

spoonful, the flavors bursting in my mouth—cheesy,

gives the souffle a savory ta ng, but Karl

the two opposite

tension, the arguments, they vanish.

the culinary

finally manage, breaking the spell and

nothing. I was glad to

I walk back to my apartment later that

Karl be the sous chef I need for the competition? He’s been getting better, and he knows

And, even though we have

function together as a well-oiled

the idea. No, he doesn’t have enough

as my sous

Right?

…

me with a steaming cup of coffee

How are

gratefully accepting the frothy coffee. “Had a successful night

night.”

I take a seat on

“How so?”

a sip. “I was struggling with a souffle recipe. But you’re not

crazy. He’s actually a master at making souffles.

thought?”

face tightens. “Karl

“Yes, why?”

away from you, Abby. I thought I was doing you a favor. But apparently he

doesn’t listen.”

blink, surprised and a little

moping about how you decided to go

just pis s

head reel. While I understand the sentiment behind

told her that I