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.”

for a moment, it looks like he might explode. Then

forcing himself to calm. “I’ll speak

straight?” I press, my voice

and my

you clear

look incompetent,” he finally admits,

my personal matters

I retort, incredulous. “So my reputation gets tarnished because

Karl. You need to man up and do something about

evasion this time. “You’re right.

Abby.”

offering to make things right.

he’s exceeding my

say anything else, he changes the subject. “Where do you

tonight?”

a moment, I consider naming one of the countless restaurants we used to frequent,

own set of memories. But then a

tired, actually,” I say.

still lingering between us, but easing somewhat.

you want. Just

soft smile works

cook.

…

an onion, its layers falling apart under my

aroma

soothing, grounding, to be cooking in my old kitchen. The sleek stainless

from the overhead light, reminding me of old

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

from the hallway.

in, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before

pot. “Whatcha

Bolognese,” I reply, stirring the pot once more. “I remember it

grins, moving closer.

at him, momentarily caught off guard. It would be so easy to say yes, to let him

I

my name. But at the same

he so willingly agreed to set the record straight. And not when we’re

is taking

“Could you chop those mushrooms

and starts slicing, his movements as

feels like it used to—full of life, laughter, and

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

I find myself imagining what it would be like to have

side at the

perfect sous chef—steady,

ask him if he would join me for the

shaking my head to

This is