Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 68

Abby

The night weighs heavy on me, each mile that separates Karl and me adding to the burden I didn’t think I’d ever have to bear again. I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed, trying to bury the memories of our argument and the sting of his words. It’s infuriating that he would have the audacity to be mad about my accomplishment.

He should be thrilled for me.

Shouldn’t he?

…

I wake up the next day with dark clouds lingering in my head, mirroring the ones outside my window. I head straight to the kitchen to work it all off. When emotions get messy, the kitchen has always been my sanctuary. But today, even my sanctuary seems to be turning against me.

The day passes by in a blur. Before I know it, the restaurant is empty, the day having been a whirlwind of rushes and demanding customers. Finally, I find myself alone amidst a storm of spices, ingredients, and equipment. At least now, in the empty kitchen, I can think.

But the thing is, I’ve attempted this delicate souffle five times now. It keeps collapsing.

“Damn it!” I snap, tossing my whisk into the sink with an unwarranted amount of aggression. My apron follows, flung across the counter as I grip the edge, my knuckles going white.

This is one of the key dishes I want to practice for the competition. I’ve never had good luck with souffles, and it seems as though that bad luck is still getting in the way.

My heart is pounding like I've run a marathon, and I feel so stupidly vulnerable standing here, defeated by eggs and sugar. Tears of frustration are dangerously close, and I hate myself for it.

I can handle a hectic dinner rush, a dysfunctional kitchen, a competition. But to add Karl’s drama onto it? It’s too much.

“Stop being such a drama queen, Abby,” I chastise myself aloud, rolling my eyes at my own melodrama. That’s when I hear it—a soft clearing of a throat. My body stiffens; that sound has dug its way into my senses more times than I can count.

Looking up, I find Karl standing at the entrance of the kitchen, his posture stiff and his eyes unreadable.

It’s amazing how someone can fill a space even when they’re trying to make themselves smaller. He has this gravity about him, always has, pulling things toward him whether he means to or not. And right now, that gravity feels like a trap.

My pulse quickens as our eyes lock. There’s a lingering moment where neither of us speaks, and everything unsaid hangs heavy in the air between us.

“I saw the lights were still on. Thought you might be here,” he finally says, taking a hesitant step into the kitchen.

“What are you doing here, Karl?” I ask, my voice laced with more bitterness than I intend. I cross my arms, taking on a defensive stance I wish I didn’t need.

He sighs, his eyes darting to the discarded apron, the mess in the sink, and the ingredients scattered across the counter like evidence of a culinary crime scene. “I came to talk about last night.”

I roll my eyes, the back of them practically sore from how many times I’ve done that in the past 24 hours. “Of course you did,” I murmur, the words coated with a layer of irony I can’t help but slather on thick.

He flinches at my tone, and I almost feel bad. Almost. “Abby, listen—”

His words touch something raw inside me, a nerve I thought I’d killed off long ago. I look into his eyes, and for a moment, just a moment, I let myself believe him. “You caring about me and showing it are two very different things. You have a funny way of showing you care.”

“I know,” he says softly, “and I’m sorry for that. I never wanted to hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

His sincerity disarms me, leaving me exposed. I’ve fortified myself with layers of resentment and independence, but now, standing in front of him, it all feels paper-thin. “Well, you have a knack for accomplishing the last thing you ever wanted to do,” I say, my voice softer than I’d like it to be.

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it in for as long as I have. “Can we start over? Can I be the person who supports you, the way I should've been all along?”

The question hangs in the air, filled with a weighty mixture of hope and regret. I want to believe that people can change, that old wounds can heal and become nothing more than scars. But life has taught me to be cautious, especially when it comes to Karl.

“I hope you mean that,” I finally say, “and not just because you see it as a way to get back into my life, or my heart. Because right now, all I need is a friend who genuinely cares.”

He nods, his eyes searching mine like he’s committing them to memory. “I’ll always care about you, Abby. Above all else, always.”

A heavy silence falls between us. I don’t know what to say; Karl’s sincerity has me taken aback, leaving me reeling. All I can do is lower my gaze and stare down at the collapsed souffle that’s sitting on the counter between us.

Karl clears his throat, his fingers reaching out to grab the souffle dish and pull it closer, inspecting it. After a few moments, his brown eyes meet mine, and there’s a touch of a smile on his lips.

“Let me help you,” he says gently.