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 my

door behind me and let out a sigh,

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

feel as though the real fight has

splash some cool water on my face

but I can still see myself: just Abby, the

with an army of

to head back out

the other room,

don’t understand, this is a serious competition. I’ve been training

I can’t afford to be

the voice instantly: Daniel. My ears perk

of accomplished chefs, who could she possibly

eavesdrop, but then she

complete non-factor. No, seriously, have you

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

to pound out of

with no real experience. You know what

but a silly little homemaker who

the help of her male chefs—one

homeless man!”

the room gets thick; his words

dominated by

not just me, but the essence of La Belle Vie, where

is

homeless man,’ as he so insensitively put it,

gifted chefs

Daniel continues, his voice fading.

in the slightest…”

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

floor, and then they fade into nothing. Only

hands, letting out

step out of

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

though I can still hear Daniel’s words

like an awful, haunting

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

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