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

the door behind me and let out a sigh, knowing

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

the real fight

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

jars me, but I can still see myself:

army of amazing friends behind

head back out

the other room, and I

a serious competition.

I can’t afford to be distracted by—by

instantly: Daniel. My ears perk up. Amateurs? In

of accomplished chefs, who could she possibly be talking about? I

eavesdrop, but then she

a complete non-factor. No, seriously, have you seen her

as though he’s listening to

feels like it’s about to pound out

she’s nothing but a fangirl with no real experience. You

but a silly little

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

homeless man!”

the room gets thick; his words are

in a field dominated by

not just me, but the

is part of

man,’ as he so insensitively put it, is

chefs I’ve

his voice fading. “I’m not worried

in the slightest…”

fades away. I

into nothing. Only then do I finally

shaking hands, letting out a shuddering

out

like it’s shrinking. I

as though I can still hear Daniel’s words bouncing

like an awful, haunting

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

my stomach.