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

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

feel as though the

some cool water on my face to

but I can still see myself: just Abby,

of amazing

moments, I’m about to head back

the

this is a serious competition. I’ve been training

afford

instantly: Daniel. My ears perk up.

of accomplished chefs, who could she possibly be talking about?

but

Abby? She’s a complete non-factor. No, seriously, have you seen her socalled ‘restaurant’?

as though he’s listening to someone, likely over

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

but a fangirl with no real

nothing but a silly little homemaker who can barely cook

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

homeless man!”

room gets thick; his words are

in a field dominated by men, and being beaten down once

but the essence of La Belle Vie, where

background, is part of a

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

gifted chefs I’ve

voice fading. “I’m

in the slightest…”

fades away. I can hear his shoes clicking on

they fade into nothing. Only then do I

hands, letting

step out of

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

though I can

head like an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

it’s dropping into my