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

me and let out a sigh, knowing that this is just one

the cook-off, and that will be

the real fight

splash some cool water on my face to calm myself, I look up

makeup still jars me, but I can still see myself: just

of amazing friends behind

few moments, I’m about to head back out to grab

a voice in the other room,

is a serious competition. I’ve

can’t afford to be distracted by—by

Daniel. My ears perk up. Amateurs? In

who could she possibly be

eavesdrop, but then she

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

as though he’s listening to someone, likely over

it’s about to pound out of my chest as

but a fangirl with no real experience.

nothing but a silly little homemaker who

without the help of her male chefs—one of whom

homeless man!”

his words are

field dominated by men, and

not just me, but the

is part of

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

chefs I’ve ever

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

in the slightest…”

away. I can hear his

then they fade into nothing. Only then do

door knob with shaking hands, letting out a shuddering breath as

step out of the

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

it’s as though I can still hear

head like an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

feels like it’s dropping into my stomach. How can a fellow chef