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

and let out a sigh, knowing

headed to the cook-off, and that will be an

feel as though the real fight

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

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

of amazing

head back

a voice in the other room, and I

a serious competition. I’ve been training

and I can’t afford

My ears perk

who could she possibly be talking

eavesdrop, but

seriously, have

he’s listening to someone, likely over the

it’s about to pound out of my

she’s nothing but a fangirl with no

nothing but a silly little homemaker who can barely cook

food without the help of her

homeless man!”

thick; his words are a punch to

dominated by men,

not just me, but the essence

their background, is part

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

gifted chefs I’ve

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

in the slightest…”

voice fades away. I can

into nothing. Only then do I finally turn

knob with shaking hands, letting out a shuddering

out

like it’s shrinking. I

I can still hear Daniel’s words bouncing

an awful,

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

dropping into my stomach.