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 thinks I don’t notice, but

forth to the song, ever so slightly. And that’s enough for

for about half an hour when Abby suddenly points to a

off the

place?” she

glance in the direction she’s pointing, spotting the outline of an old,

“Ah, the Woodpecker Inn,” I say, a smile forming on my

than once.”

taking on a more

“Your memory is betraying you. I actually proposed at that fancy restaurant

was it called—La

me a sideways look. “Karl, you’ve got it

fireplace

leaving space where our

think about it, because if I do, I’ll get

car off the road.

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

kicked us out for disturbing the peace after

like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to our

simpler times. I’m about to pull out my

to settle the argument when Abby’s eyes widen,

both idiots,” she

I ask,

wiping a tear from the corner of

“The lighthouse?”

says, shooting me a sideways glance. “The one near your

restaurant attached?”

lightning, and I burst

could

the restaurant there, and you proposed at the

then we went to the Woodpecker

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

briefest of moments, and it’s as

regret hits me like

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

to acknowledge it.

a half of driving, the towering

months now, but it feels just

Abby beside me.

glance, hoping that I don’t

she says, though I catch a note of

into view. Before I can even

swings open. Gerald, our family butler for as long

up when he sees me. “Mr. Karl!” he

the moment his gaze

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

words.

her tone

says nothing more, his eyes say it all. Maybe

problem with Abby being here, that’s his issue to

with, not ours.

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

up my arm, and I have to resist the