Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

A few minutes later, Anton’s hands are washed, his long hair is pulled back, and an apron is covering his

grimy clothes. Karl, John, and I are sitting on stools on the opposite side of the counter while Anton

inspects each ingredient carefully, like he’s preparing to build something magnificent.

Karl clears his throat, clearly itching to say something snarky but holding back for my sake. “So, Anton,

are you gonna cook this mystery dish? Or was all that just talk?”

Anton smirks, picking up a chef’s knife with a familiarity to his mannerisms that leaves me somewhat

taken aback. “Just watch.”

The room falls silent. John moves closer to get a better view, while Karl and I shoot each other a glance,

half out of respect, half out of disbelief. Anton’s fingers fly through the air, chopping onions, mincing garlic,

and handling the black truffles with an expertise that makes my jaw drop.

Enter title…

John begins, but Anton

“Patience, my friend.”

not just cooking; it’s

been putting on over and over again

only ever dream of being as skilled

fill with the scent of garlic

uncontrollably, and I shoot Karl

instant, I see the walls of his skepticism crack, if only

eyes locking onto mine. “Would you pass me the white wine,

Abby?”

it to him, and he pours a generous splash into the pan. The liquid sizzles as it hits

Anton stirs, a hint of a smile

than to us. “The real flavor is in the ‘fond’—the

that are stuck to the

seconds, and before we know it, Anton is sliding the pan