Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 94: Sous Chef Struggles

Abby

The restaurant has long since closed, but the aroma of sauteed onions and garlic still lingers in the air.

The sound of sizzling oil on the stove and the faint melody of a song that I don’t like wafting from a

speaker in the corner mix together to create a tense symphony that I absolutely don’t need to be

hearing right now.

I’m stressed, to say the least. Really stressed.

John stands next to me, his eyes focused as he skillfully dices tomatoes. His posture is rigid, the

tension between us as palpable as the texture of the dough I’m kneading for our homemade pasta.

“How’s the dough coming along?” he asks, throwing a quick glance my way.

“It’s fine. Just needs a bit more kneading,” I reply, my palms pushing and folding as I get lost in the

repetitive motion.

John grunts in acknowledgment and moves on to chop basil. There’s an air of seriousness around him,

an unwavering concentration that should make me feel reassured.

And yet, it doesn’t.

Instead, I’m hyper-aware of the disconnect, the invisible yet unignorable gap between us. It feels like

we’re reading from different recipes, never quite aligning.

“Could you pass me the olive oil?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I hand it to him, our fingers brushing for a moment, but there’s none of the warmth or understanding

that I used to feel when Karl and I worked side by side in the kitchen.

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but with Karl, it was natural to work together. Sure, we had our

moments, but we worked well together. I like John and he’s a good cook, but we just don’t have that

same chemistry in the kitchen. What should feel effortless instead feels like a chore.

John drizzles the oil over the tomatoes, then hesitates, looking at the array of spices laid out in front of

him. “I think a touch of paprika would give the sauce a nice kick.”

don’t know,” I say, biting my lip. “The recipe is already

throw it off.”

not to rock the boat, but

John? Are you crazy?”

furrowed. “We’re not following the recipe

to make it our

ruining the integrity of the dish,” I

than I

takes a deep breath, visibly

me to be your sous chef for this competition. If you don’t trust my judgment, then why am

here?”

look him in the eye. Because he’s

is he not Karl? My hands grip the edge

judgment,” I finally say, my voice tinged with remorse. “It’s just that

this to be

exasperated groan. “That’s your problem,” he

perfect.”

down at the dough,

with John since I asked him to be my

in having another. “Let’s try the

the mood has shifted. I expected him

just seems defeated.

sprinkles the paprika into the sauce and gives it a stir. “There. Let’s see how

into the sauce, tasting it simultaneously. It’s… alright. The

it’s just not what I wanted. None of this

up being my sous chef for the competition,

out horribly.

good to me,” John

half-agree, setting my spoon

out another

nod and meet his annoyed

rips his apron off and tosses

“I’m going home. Goodnight.”

out as he storms over to the door, but even as the words leave my mouth, I

up

enough for one day,” he says, his eyes meeting mine

reaches the door. “See you

he’s gone, leaving me alone in the

around at the chaotic landscape of our

the splattered

left me with the mess again. I mutter a curse under my breath

and

my thoughts drift back to last week, the moment of