Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 123

Chapter 0123

Karl

The sun is barely hovering above the h orizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on

Friday morning.

I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My black car idles, the hum of its engine

drowned out by the pop song playing on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to,

although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.

With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup

holder.

She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a

look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her

eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.

“Good morning,” I greet, handing her the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

She grins, taking a sip immediately. “You read my mind.”

There’s a slight silence for a few moments. My eyes scan the inside of her apartment, where a bag sits

on the floor behind her; it’s packed haphazardly, no doubt. She’s never been the neatest traveler.

“Oh, one more thing,” she says before I can say anything. She sl*ps her phone out of her pocket and

begins tapping furiously on the screen while her coffee cup balances precariously in the crook of her

elbow. “I have to tell Ethan—”

“Ethan will be fine without you,” I say, sna tching both the phone and the coffee cup away. “And so will

the restaurant. Just enjoy your time off, Abby.”

She glares at me for a moment, that signature stare of hers, but finally relaxes and lets out a deep sigh.

“You’re right.”

We hit the road within a few minutes. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting her face

in a warm amber glow. I plug in my phone and shuffle through a playlist I know she’ll love.

“So, long drive ahead. Music?”

“Surprise me,” she says, her fingers nervously tapping on the coffee cup.

I hit play, and the first chords of a nostalgic song—one that played at our wedding—fill the car. She

laughs, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

“Come on, it’s a classic,” I defend, bobbing my head to the beat.

Abby’s l*ps twitch upwards into a smile, but it quickly fades. I watch from my peripherals as she averts

her gaze to the window, occasionally sipping out of her coffee cup. She thinks I don’t notice, but she’s

swaying back and forth to the song, ever so slightly. And that’s enough for me.

We’ve been riding in comfortable silence for about half an hour when Abby suddenly points to a barely

visible building off the main road.

“Remember that place?” she asks.

I glance in the direction she’s pointing, spotting the outline of an old, worn-down motel that has seen

better days. “Ah, the Woodpecker Inn,” I say, a smile forming on my own face. “We stayed there more

than once.”

“Yeah.” She pauses, her voice taking on a more nostalgic tone. “You proposed to me there, didn’t you?”

I smirk, shaking my head. “Your memory is betraying you. I actually proposed at that fancy restaurant in

the city. What was it called—La Bella Vita?”

Abby gives me a sideways look. “Karl, you’ve got it all wrong. You proposed at the Woodpecker Inn,

right near the fireplace where we used to—”

Her voice trails off momentarily, leaving space where our memories belong. The fireplace at the

Woodpecker Inn… I try not to think about it, because if I do, I’ll get too distracted and possibly run the

car off the road.

“I know what we used to do near that fireplace, but no, Abby, I proposed at La Bella Vita. I remember

because the hostess almost kicked us out for disturbing the peace after you said yes.”

We go back and forth like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to our own versions of the story. The

tension is playful, almost electric, a reminder of simpler times. I’m about to pull out my phone and call

one of our mutual friends to settle the argument when Abby’s eyes widen, and she bursts into laughter.

“We’re both idiots,” she exclaims.

“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“We’re both wrong,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It was the lighthouse.”

“The lighthouse?”

“Yes!” she says, shooting me a sideways glance. “The one near your pack’s territory. With the

restaurant attached?”

The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I burst into laughter too. “You’re right. The

lighthouse! How could I forget?”

“We had dinner at the restaurant there, and you proposed at the top,” she says, her voice taking on an

almost melancholic tone. “And then we went to the Woodpecker Inn.”

For a moment, there’s a softness in her voice, a glimmer of something that I’ve missed desperately. We

lock eyes for the briefest of moments, and it’s as if the years peel away.

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