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

the door behind me and let out a sigh, knowing that this

to the cook-off, and that will be

the real fight has only

water on my face to

can still

an army of amazing friends

to head back out to

the other room, and I

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

can’t afford to be

the voice instantly: Daniel. My ears perk up. Amateurs?

could she possibly

eavesdrop, but

No, seriously, have you seen

listening to someone, likely over the phone.

to pound out of my chest as

a fangirl with

a silly little homemaker who can

without the help of her male chefs—one

homeless man!”

his words are a

am, in a field dominated by men, and

attacking not just me, but the

is part

he so insensitively put it,

chefs I’ve

voice fading.

in the slightest…”

voice fades away. I

they fade into nothing. Only then do I

hands, letting out a shuddering breath

step out of

although it’s empty, feels like it’s shrinking.

though I can still hear Daniel’s words bouncing around

an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

into my stomach. How can