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

water on

me and let out a sigh, knowing

be headed to the cook-off, and

beast. I feel as though the real

face to calm myself, I look up

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

an army of amazing

head back

voice in the other room, and I

you don’t understand, this is a serious

I can’t afford

voice instantly: Daniel. My ears perk up.

she possibly

but then she

seriously, have

though he’s listening to someone, likely

pound out of

but a fangirl with

little homemaker who can barely cook

her male

homeless man!”

thick; his words

field dominated by men, and being beaten down

attacking not just me, but the

their background, is part of

he so insensitively put it, is one

chefs

voice fading. “I’m

in the slightest…”

voice fades away. I can

then they fade into nothing. Only then do I finally

shaking hands, letting out a shuddering

out

feels like it’s shrinking. I

as though I can still hear Daniel’s words

like an awful, haunting

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

dropping into my stomach. How can a fellow