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

a sigh, knowing that this is just

the

I feel as though the real

water on my face to calm myself, I

still see myself: just Abby, the

of amazing

to head back out to grab

the other room,

this is a serious competition. I’ve been training

and I can’t afford

Daniel. My ears perk

accomplished chefs, who could she possibly

eavesdrop, but then she says

non-factor. No, seriously, have you seen

though he’s listening to

pound out of

fangirl with no real experience. You know

She’s nothing but a silly little homemaker

her male chefs—one of whom is

homeless man!”

air in the room gets thick; his words are

in a field dominated by men,

just me, but the essence of La Belle Vie, where

their background, is

as he so

chefs I’ve

voice fading. “I’m not

in the slightest…”

I

they fade into nothing. Only then

hands, letting

step out of

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

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

head like an awful,

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

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