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

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

the cook-off, and that will be an

I feel as though the real fight

cool water on my face to

still jars me, but I can still

of

moments, I’m about to head back out

voice in the other

you don’t understand, this is a

I can’t afford

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

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

but then she says

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

a pause, as though he’s listening to someone, likely over the

feels like it’s about to pound

a fangirl with no real experience. You

nothing but a silly little homemaker who

help of her male chefs—one of whom is

homeless man!”

in the room gets thick; his

I am, in a field dominated by men, and

the essence of La

their background, is part of a

so insensitively put it, is

chefs

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

in the slightest…”

away. I can hear

they fade into nothing.

with shaking hands, letting out a

step out of the

it’s empty, feels like

I can still

like an awful, haunting

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

my stomach.