Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 184

“No hard feelings,” Anton adds. “Besides, you gave me the fire I needed. Every kitchen needs a little heat, oui?”

…

The evening rush is in full swing, and I’m feeling that exhilarating mix of adrenaline and contentment that comes from seeing the restaurant function like a well-oiled machine. The clinking of silverware, the murmur of customers, and the sizzle from the kitchen—it’s all music to my ears.

I’m busy updating the specials on our chalkboard when Daisy rushes over, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Abby, there’s a guy here. Says he’s a journalist? He wants to talk to you.”

My gut clenches.”A journalist? Now? Why?”

Daisy shrugs, looking just as confused as I feel. “I don’t know, but he’s asking some really specific questions. I didn’t know what to say.”

Taking a deep breath, I put down the chalk and head to the front of the restaurant, where a man with a five o’clock shadow and wearing a crumpled suit is flipping through a notepad. He looks up, his eyes sharp, and extends a hand before I even have the chance to say anything.

“Richard Kohler. I’m with the Daily Dispatch. You’re Abby, right?”

“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

Richard glances around, his eyes taking in the interior of my restaurant, the pristine table settings, the wall decor, the soft lighting. It feels like he’s trying to see through the walls, and I’m not sure if I like it.

“So, Abby, word has gotten out that you’ve hired a homeless person as a chef in your kitchen. Care to comment?”

His tone is casual, but his eyes are predatory. Suddenly, all of this feels like one big trap.

“Yes, I hired Anton,” I say cautiously. “And he’s been an excellent addition to the team. He’s more than qualified for the job.”

“Alright, that's enough. Time for you to leave,” Karl says, his voice rough.

Richard looks taken aback. “Leave? I’m just doing my job. People want to know.”

“And we’ve got a job to do too. Serving customers, not entertaining tabloid journalism,” Karl retorts, his eyes locked onto Richard’s.

The tension in the air is so sharp it could cut through diamonds. Richard hesitates, then snaps his notebook shut. “Fine. But this isn’t the end of it.”

As Karl escorts him out, I feel my knees nearly buckle. The thought starts to gnaw at me: What if this ruins the reputation of the restaurant?

And most importantly, what if this one decision, meant to give someone a second chance and help me win the cook-off, ends up being the one thing that pulls the rug out from under us?