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

gaze to the window, occasionally sipping out of her coffee cup.

song, ever so slightly. And that’s

for about half an hour

building off

that place?”

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

say, a smile forming on my own

than once.”

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

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

city. What was it called—La Bella

you’ve got it

fireplace where we

off momentarily, leaving space where our

it, because if I do, I’ll get too distracted and possibly

car off the road.

do near that fireplace, but no,

the hostess almost kicked us out for disturbing the peace after

and forth like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to our own

of simpler times. I’m about to pull out my

of our mutual friends to settle the argument when

idiots,”

I ask,

from the corner of her eye.

“The lighthouse?”

me a sideways glance. “The one near your pack’s

restaurant attached?”

like a bolt of lightning,

How could I

there, and you proposed

then we went to

in her voice, a glimmer of something that I’ve missed desperately.

the briefest of moments, and it’s as if

days, miss what we were. The regret hits me like a ton of

too long, lurking

to acknowledge it.

a half of driving, the towering trees

months now, but it

Abby beside me.

that I don’t see any glimmer of doubt in

she says, though I catch a

driveway, the old mansion coming into view.

butler for as long as

sees me. “Mr. Karl!” he exclaims, shuffling out. “How

falls the moment his gaze

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

words.

replies, her tone

he mutters, and though he says nothing more, his

hell, if he has a problem with Abby being here, that’s his

with, not ours.

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

shoots up my arm, and I have to resist the urge