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

lock the door behind me and let out a sigh, knowing that this is just one

be headed to the cook-off,

as though the real fight has only just

cool water on my face to calm myself, I look

still jars me, but I can still

an army of

to head

in the other

don’t understand, this is a

and I can’t afford to be distracted

My ears perk up. Amateurs? In

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

to eavesdrop, but

a complete non-factor. No, seriously, have

he’s listening

to pound

she’s nothing but a fangirl with

silly little homemaker who can

help of her male chefs—one of whom

homeless man!”

gets thick; his

field dominated by men, and being

just me, but the essence of La

of their background, is part of a

he so insensitively

chefs I’ve ever

voice fading. “I’m not

in the slightest…”

that, Daniel’s voice fades away. I can

nothing. Only then do I finally turn

knob with shaking hands, letting out a

step out

like

it’s as though I can still hear Daniel’s words bouncing around

like an awful, haunting

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

it’s dropping into my stomach.