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 on my

out a sigh, knowing that this is

to the cook-off, and that will be an

the

water on my face to calm myself, I look up

I can still see

of amazing friends behind

I’m about to head back out to grab my things

the other room, and I

a serious

and I can’t afford

Daniel. My ears perk up. Amateurs? In a

who could she possibly

to eavesdrop, but then she says

non-factor. No, seriously, have you seen her

a pause, as though he’s listening to

it’s about to pound out of

fangirl with no real experience. You know

silly little homemaker

without the help of her male chefs—one of whom is a

homeless man!”

room gets thick; his words

a field dominated by men, and being beaten

but the essence of

is part of

as he so

chefs

fading. “I’m not worried about

in the slightest…”

Daniel’s voice fades away. I

floor, and then they fade into nothing. Only then do

letting

step out

room, although it’s empty, feels like

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

like an awful,

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

my stomach.