Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 174

“Okay, Abby. Let’s get everything in place. Farro mafaldine, black truffle butter, and the mushrooms,” John says, his hand passing over each individual ingredient—and lingering over the coveted black truffles—as he speaks.

I nod. My body feels like it’s about to burst, I’m so excited. “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” I say. “If we can just nail this dish, the cook-off is ours.”

Karl chuckles from the sidelines. “No pressure, huh?”

John and I share a quick glance and a collective breath before diving in.

He works on preparing the handmade pasta, expertly feeding the farro mafaldine through the machine. I focus on the mushrooms, slicing them with surgical precision before turning to the star of our dish: the black truffles.

Carefully, I shave thin layers of the truffles, letting them fall into the small pot of melted butter on the stove. The aroma is intoxicating, filling the room and making my stomach growl with anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity, the dish is finally complete. John and I step back, looking at the steaming bowl of farro mafaldine, black truffle butter, and mushrooms sitting on the countertop.

“Well, here goes nothing,” I say, scooping a generous portion onto three plates for taste testing.”

We each pick up a fork, the atmosphere between us thick with anticipation.

But the moment the pasta touches my tongue, I know something is wrong. The flavors clash horrendously, causing my palate to wince in response. The black truffle butter, rather than enhancing the dish as it should, is instead overpowering the dish with a dirty, murky flavor.

I spit the food out instinctively, my eyes going wide as I chug a glass of water sitting beside me to wash out the taste of soil. “Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.”

John’s face mirrors my sentiments, his eyes widening as he puts his fork down and swallows harshly. Karl doesn’t say anything, but the slight grimace on his face speaks volumes.

“We can’t serve this,” I mutter, already dumping the disgusting dish into the trash. “I’ve never cooked with black truffles before. I didn’t realize they could overpower a dish so easily.”

Frustrated and verging on desperate, I take the bowl of the failed second attempt and march towards the dumpster outside.

This is absolutely not how I envisioned the night going, and my head feels like a swirling mass of disappointment and anger. With the cook-off coming so close, I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I thought that it would all be smooth sailing once I got the truffles, but it’s turning out to be anything but.

Cursing under my breath, I storm over to the dumpster and lift the lid to throw the failed dish in. But that’s when a haggard voice suddenly catches my attention.

“Hey! Excuse me!”

I whip around, my eyes going wide.

Standing at the far end of the alley is a homeless man. His eyes aren’t on me, but rather on the bowl in my hands.