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

out a sigh, knowing

I’ll be headed to the cook-off, and that will

as though the

face to

jars me, but I can still see

an army of amazing

to head back out

hear a voice in the other

don’t understand, this is a

afford to be distracted by—by

Daniel. My

she possibly

to eavesdrop, but then she

complete non-factor. No, seriously, have you seen her socalled ‘restaurant’? What

as though he’s listening to someone, likely over the

it’s about to pound out of

but a fangirl with no real experience.

a silly little homemaker who can barely

the help of her male

homeless man!”

air in the room gets thick; his words are a punch

a field dominated by men,

just me, but the essence of La Belle

of their background, is

he so insensitively put it,

gifted chefs I’ve ever

voice fading. “I’m not

in the slightest…”

away. I can hear his shoes

floor, and then they fade into nothing. Only then

knob with shaking hands, letting out a shuddering breath as

out

feels like it’s shrinking. I stand

it’s as though I can still hear

like an

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

feels like it’s dropping into my