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

let out a sigh, knowing that this is just one

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

feel as though the real fight

cool water on my face

but I can still see

of amazing friends behind

moments, I’m about to head back out

hear a voice in the

understand, this is a serious competition. I’ve been

I can’t afford

Daniel. My ears perk up. Amateurs? In a

of accomplished chefs, who could she possibly be

to eavesdrop, but

No, seriously, have

listening to

it’s about to pound out

a fangirl with no real experience. You know what

She’s nothing but a silly little homemaker

food without the help of her male chefs—one of whom

homeless man!”

the room gets thick; his words are a punch

dominated by men, and being beaten down

attacking not just me, but the essence

background, is part

as he so insensitively put it, is one

chefs

continues, his voice fading. “I’m not worried

in the slightest…”

voice fades away. I can hear

fade into nothing. Only then do I finally turn

knob with shaking hands, letting out

out of the

feels like

it’s as though I can

an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

it’s dropping into my stomach.