Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 80: New Horizons
Karl

The sun is barely hovering above the horizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on

Friday morning.

I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My black car idles, the hum of its engine

drowned out by the pop song playing on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to,

although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.

With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup

holder.

She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a

look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her

eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.

“Good morning,” I greet, handing her the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

She grins, taking a sip immediately. “You read my mind.”

There’s a slight silence for a few moments. My eyes scan the inside of her apartment, where a bag sits

on the floor behind her; it’s packed haphazardly, no doubt. She’s never been the neatest traveler.

“Oh, one more thing,” she says before I can say anything. She slips her phone out of her pocket and

begins tapping furiously on the screen while her coffee cup balances precariously in the crook of her

elbow. “I have to tell Ethan—”

“Ethan will be fine without you,” I say, sn atching both the phone and the coffee cup away. “And so will

the restaurant. Just enjoy your time off, Abby.”

She glares at me for a moment, that signature stare of hers, but finally relaxes and lets out a deep sigh.

“You’re right.”

We hit the road within a few minutes. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting her face

in a warm amber glow. I plug in my phone and shuffle through a playlist I know she’ll love.

“So, long drive ahead. Music?”

“Surprise me,” she says, her fingers nervously tapping on the coffee cup.

I hit play, and the first chords of a nostalgic song—one that played at our wedding—fill the car. She

laughs, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

“Come on, it’s a classic,” I defend, bobbing my head to the beat.

Abby’s lips twitch upwards into a smile, but it quickly fades. I watch from my peripherals as she averts

occasionally sipping out of her coffee cup. She

to the song, ever so slightly. And

for about half an hour when

off the

place?” she

glance in the direction she’s pointing, spotting the outline of an old, worn-down motel

smile forming on my own face. “We

than once.”

taking on a more

betraying you. I actually

was

look. “Karl, you’ve got it all wrong. You proposed at the

near the fireplace where

space where our memories belong. The fireplace

try not to think about it, because if I do, I’ll get

car off the road.

what we used to do near that fireplace, but no,

out for disturbing the peace after you

forth like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to

reminder of simpler times. I’m about to pull

friends to settle the argument

idiots,”

ask,

wrong,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It

“The lighthouse?”

glance. “The one

restaurant attached?”

of lightning, and I burst into laughter too.

How could I

had dinner at the restaurant there, and you proposed at the top,” she says, her voice taking

we went to the

moment, there’s a softness in her voice, a glimmer of something that I’ve missed desperately.

eyes for the briefest of moments, and it’s as if the

what we were. The regret hits me like a ton of bricks, settling heavy in

too long, lurking in the shadows even when I was

to acknowledge it.

half of driving, the towering trees give way

few months now, but it feels just

Abby beside me.

that I don’t see any glimmer

she says, though I catch a note of uncertainty in

into view. Before

Gerald, our family butler for as long as I

“Mr. Karl!” he

the moment his gaze lands

here?” he asks,

words.

Abby replies, her tone

he mutters, and though he says nothing more, his

hell, if he has a problem with Abby being here,

with, not ours.

her bag, but she’s already grabbed it. “I

shoots up my arm, and I have to resist