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

sipping out of her coffee cup. She thinks I

forth to the song, ever so

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

building off the

that place?” she

she’s pointing, spotting the

say, a smile forming on

than once.”

a more nostalgic tone. “You proposed

my head. “Your memory is betraying you. I actually

city. What was it

got it

fireplace where

trails off momentarily, leaving space where our memories belong. The fireplace at

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

car off the road.

that fireplace, but no, Abby, I proposed at La Bella Vita. I

the hostess almost kicked us out for

of us stubbornly clinging to our own versions of

almost electric, a reminder of simpler times. I’m about to

our mutual friends to settle the argument

idiots,”

ask, genuinely

wiping a tear from the corner of

“The lighthouse?”

glance. “The one

restaurant attached?”

lightning, and I burst into laughter too. “You’re

How could I

dinner at the restaurant there, and you proposed at the

melancholic tone. “And then we went

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

and it’s as if the years

The regret hits me like a ton of

there for too long, lurking in the

to acknowledge it.

another hour and a half of driving, the towering trees

months now,

Abby beside me.

don’t see

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

mansion coming into view. Before I can even cut the engine, the

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

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

falls the moment his gaze lands on

doing here?” he asks, a thinly veiled note of disapproval coloring

words.

replies, her tone neutral. “I’m

he says nothing more, his eyes say it all. Maybe

he has a problem

with, not ours.

grabbed it. “I got it,”

have to resist