Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 68: Reconciliation

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.

“D amn 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 stu pidly 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 sca ttered

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—”

“No, you listen,” I cut him off, my pent-up emotions spilling over like a pot left unwatched. “Do you have

any idea how much this means to me? This competition, this opportunity—it’s everything I’ve worked

for. And you want to make it about you, about some party?”

“Abby, that’s not fair. I didn’t—”

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t mean to do, Karl,” I snap, stepping closer to him. “Right now, this is

about me and my career, and if you can’t be happy about that, then I don’t know what to say.”

“Listen, I just came to talk,” he finally says. “If you don’t want to, I understand.”

I can’t look away from him; his presence is too overwhelming, too filled with a history I’ve been trying to

ignore. “You came to talk? Really? Because last time we talked, you made it abundantly clear how you

felt about my success.”

His eyes narrow, stung by my accusation. “I am happy for you, Abby. I wish you would believe that.”

“How can I believe it?” I retort, gripping the edge of the counter to keep my hands from shaking. “Your

entire demeanor changed. You said yourself that the competition would get in the way of the party.”

Karl looks down, exhaling slowly like he’s measuring each breath, weighing each word before it leaves

his mouth. “You’re right. I said some stuff last night that I shouldn’t have, because I was angry. But I am

happy for you, Abby. Way more than you realize. And I’m sorry.”

My eyes meet his, searching for any sign of insincerity. All I find is a quiet regret that somehow makes

me even angrier. “Sorry doesn’t just erase things, Karl. You being angry about my success tells me

you’re not supportive of me, and I don’t have room for that kind of negativity in my life right now.”

He looks up, his eyes intense and unwavering. “I want to be supportive, Abby. I messed up. Let me

make it right.”

“You really want to support me?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Or is this just another

attempt to win me back? Because those are two very different things.”

He steps closer, closing the gap between us, and I involuntarily hold my breath. “I can’t lie and say I

don’t want you back. But above all, I care about you, Abby. That’s never changed, even when

everything else did.”

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.