Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 82: My Alpha Sous Chef
Abby

The warm afternoon sunlight casts dappled patterns on the ground as we walk through the park,

holding cardboard coffee cups in our hands. The warmth seeps through the cup, mingling with the crisp

air. It’s a nice moment, bordering on something that feels almost normal.

And then we stop in front of it—the old oak tree.

Its massive trunk and sprawling branches are as iconic as they come. It’s always been a sort of

landmark in this small town, here long before the town was ever built. But to me, it’s more than just a

tree. It’s a bitter reminder of another life, of another version of us.

We took our wedding photos under this tree.

“Do you remember?” Karl asks, his eyes meeting mine as if he’s searching for something—recognition,

perhaps.

“Of course I remember,” I snap, maybe a little too quickly. “How could I forget?”

He looks taken aback, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Then, as though sensing he’s

wandered into a minefield, he falls silent.

We stand there for another minute, neither of us able to speak. Then I can’t hold back any longer.

“Did you ever tell the staff the truth?” I ask, my voice edged with more tension than I’d intended. “That I

never actually cheated on you with the gardener? That it was a terrible mistake?””

Karl goes silent, the creases on his forehead deepening. I wait for what feels like an eternity, my

patience waning with each passing second.

“Karl?”

He sighs. “No, Abby, I didn’t make an official announcement.”

Anger and hurt surge within me, mingling with a heavy dose of disbelief. And yet, somehow, I expected

this. It’s just like Karl, isn’t it? “That must be why Gerald was giving me dirty looks from the window

earlier.”

“Gerald did what?” Karl’s eyes flash, a ripple of anger surfacing before he reins it in.

I blanch, regretting that I let that slip. “It’s nothing, really. I just caught him giving me an odd look. And

he seemed… perturbed when I arrived.”

clenches, and for a moment, it looks like he

calm. “I’ll speak

the record straight?” I

silent again, and my annoyance

Why didn’t you clear my

would make me look incompetent,” he finally admits, avoiding my eyes.

handle my

incredulous. “So my reputation gets

You need to man up and

his eyes meeting mine without evasion this

Abby.”

is so willingly offering to make things right. I was so

somehow, he’s exceeding

changes the

tonight?”

consider naming one of the

of memories. But then a different

say. “I’d rather just stay

still lingering between us, but easing somewhat.

Just say

the thought solidifies as a soft smile works its way across my lips. “You

cook. In

…

slice through an onion, its layers falling apart under my knife. The pot simmers on

aroma of garlic and

grounding, to be cooking in my old kitchen.

against the warm amber glow from the overhead light, reminding me of old days.

of salt to the pot, watching the crystals dissolve into the bubbling

from the hallway.

says as he walks in, his eyes meeting mine for a moment

the pot. “Whatcha

pot once more. “I remember it was one of your

grins, moving closer. “Need

It would be so easy to say yes, to

role he once played so perfectly. But I hesitate, unsure.

that he never cleared my name. But at the same time, I can’t bring myself to be too mad at

agreed to set the record straight. And not when we’re in our old

the nostalgia is

you

his movements as fluid as they

it used to—full of life,

side by side, I can’t help but marvel at how

find myself imagining what it would be like to

at

the perfect sous chef—steady,

if he would join me for the competition. But at the last moment, I

shaking my

I thinking? This is just dinner, nothing