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

out a sigh,

process. Tomorrow, I’ll be headed to the cook-off, and that will

feel as though the real fight has

on my face to calm myself, I

can still see

an army of amazing friends behind

few moments, I’m about to head back out

voice in the other room,

this is a serious competition.

and I can’t afford to be distracted by—by

My

accomplished chefs, who could she possibly be talking

eavesdrop, but then

seriously, have you seen her socalled

listening to someone, likely over

feels like it’s about to pound out of my

a fangirl with no real experience. You

silly little

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

homeless man!”

gets thick; his words

dominated by men,

me, but the essence of La Belle

is part

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

chefs I’ve ever

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

in the slightest…”

that, Daniel’s voice fades away. I can hear

and then they fade into nothing. Only then do I finally turn

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

step out of the

like it’s shrinking. I stand here for

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

head like an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

feels like it’s dropping into my