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

window, occasionally sipping out of her

and forth to the song, ever

in comfortable silence for about half an hour when Abby suddenly points

off

place?”

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

Inn,” I say, a smile forming on my own face. “We

than once.”

pauses, her voice taking on a more nostalgic tone. “You proposed

smirk, shaking my head. “Your memory is betraying you. I actually proposed

What was it called—La Bella

sideways look. “Karl, you’ve got it all wrong. You

fireplace where we

space where our

try not to think about it, because if I do, I’ll get too distracted and possibly

car off the road.

we used to do near that fireplace, but no, Abby, I proposed at La Bella Vita. I

us out for disturbing the

of us stubbornly clinging to our own versions of the

reminder of simpler times. I’m about

friends to settle the argument when Abby’s

idiots,” she

ask, genuinely

she says, wiping a tear from the corner

“The lighthouse?”

shooting me a sideways glance.

restaurant attached?”

of lightning, and I

How could

you proposed at the top,” she says, her

then we went to the Woodpecker

moment, there’s a softness in her voice, a glimmer of

the briefest of moments, and it’s as if

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

It’s a regret that’s been there for too long, lurking in the shadows even

to acknowledge it.

of driving, the towering trees give way to the familiar entrance

haven’t been here in a few months now, but it feels just as

Abby beside me.

I don’t

I’ll ever be,” she says, though I catch a note of uncertainty

driveway, the old mansion coming into view. Before I can

family butler for as long as I can remember, steps onto the

lights up when he sees me. “Mr. Karl!” he exclaims, shuffling out. “How nice to—”

his

What are you doing here?” he asks, a thinly veiled note

words.

Gerald,” Abby replies, her tone neutral.

says nothing more, his

if he has a problem with Abby being here,

with, not ours.

bag, but she’s already grabbed it. “I got it,” she says, our

have to resist