Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby

Applause begins to ripple across the studio audience, but all I see is Karl, sitting

in the back, staring down at me. He’s wearing a blue surgical mask, but I know

it’s him. I can tell by his eyes, by the way that my wolf stirs ever so slightly just

from looking at him.

“Wow, Abby,” Sarah says, drawing me back to the present, back to the interview.

“That was lovely. Your staff must be really grateful to have you.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m lucky to have them.”

“Well, that’s all, folks,” Sarah says, turning back to face the crowd. “Everyone

give a big round of applause for Abby, the owner of La Belle Vie Bistro!”

Enter title…

Another wave of applause washes over the room, smattered with a few cheers.

The cameraman gives me my cue, and I stand, waving as I jog off stage. Once

backstage, the assistant from before gives me a nod and a thumbs-up, then

points for me to head back to the greenroom.

As I head down the hall to the greenroom, I feel like I’m floating on air. So that

was it; that was the interview. I did it!

The greenroom is a modest room, furnished with a couple of sofas, a coffee

table littered with fashion magazines, and a snack bar.

The walls are adorned with photos of previous guests who came on the show,

from famous musicians to local artists. There’s a bathroom in the back, and

feeling like I’ll be sick now from the nerves of it all, I head to the bathroom to

cold water

lock the door behind me and let out a sigh, knowing that this is just one step

I’ll be headed to the cook-off, and that

I feel as though the

my face to

can still see myself: just Abby, the small

with an army of

to head back out to grab

voice in the other room, and I

don’t understand, this is a serious competition. I’ve

I can’t afford to

My ears perk up. Amateurs? In

who could she possibly be

but then she says

She’s a complete non-factor. No, seriously, have you seen

pause, as though he’s listening to someone, likely over the phone.

like it’s about to pound out of my chest as

a fangirl with no

She’s nothing but a silly little homemaker who can barely cook

of her male chefs—one

homeless man!”

thick; his words are

a field dominated by men, and being

the essence of

of their background, is part of

homeless man,’ as he so insensitively put it, is one of

gifted chefs I’ve

fading.

in the slightest…”

away. I can hear his shoes clicking on

into nothing. Only then do I finally

knob with shaking hands, letting out a shuddering breath

out of the

although it’s empty, feels like

can

head like an awful,

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

dropping into my stomach. How can a fellow