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 on

let out a sigh, knowing that this is

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

beast. I feel as though the

on my face to calm myself, I look up into the

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

an army of

to head back out to grab

in the other room,

you don’t understand, this is a serious competition. I’ve been

I can’t afford

instantly: Daniel. My ears perk

she possibly be

but then she says

Abby? She’s a complete non-factor. No, seriously, have you

listening to someone, likely over

it’s about to pound

but a fangirl with no real experience. You

a silly little homemaker who can barely cook

of her male chefs—one of whom is

homeless man!”

gets thick; his words are

field dominated by men, and being beaten down

attacking not just me, but the essence of La Belle

is part of

so insensitively put it, is

chefs I’ve ever

continues, his voice fading. “I’m not worried about

in the slightest…”

away. I

they fade into nothing. Only then do I

with shaking hands, letting

out of

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

I can still hear

head like an awful, haunting

Fangirl. Amateur. Homemaker. Silly.

my stomach.