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…

Anton silences him

“Patience, my friend.”

He’s not just cooking; it’s like he’s performing in front of an audience,

that he’s been putting on over and over again for decades

overwhelming at the same time. I could only

the scent of garlic and onions cooking in olive

of the truffles. My mouth waters uncontrollably, and I shoot Karl a

instant, I see the walls of his skepticism crack,

locking onto mine. “Would you pass me the

Abby?”

and he pours a generous splash into the

Anton stirs, a hint of a smile gracing

himself than

that are stuck to

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