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

some cold water on my

out a sigh, knowing that this is just one

the cook-off, and

beast. I feel as though the real

water on my face to calm myself, I look

I can still see myself: just Abby,

army of amazing

to head back out to grab my things

voice in the other

you don’t understand, this is a

can’t afford to be

My ears perk up. Amateurs? In

chefs, who could she possibly be talking about? I

but then she

seriously, have you seen her socalled ‘restaurant’? What a

listening to someone, likely over

like it’s about to pound out of

nothing but a fangirl with

silly little homemaker who can

food without the help of her male

homeless man!”

in the room gets thick; his words are a punch to

I am, in a field dominated by

just me, but the essence of La Belle

is part

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

chefs

fading. “I’m not

in the slightest…”

that, Daniel’s voice fades away. I can hear

into nothing. Only then

letting out a shuddering

out of the

empty, feels like it’s shrinking. I stand here

and it’s as though I can still hear Daniel’s words

like an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

like it’s dropping into my stomach. How can