Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 0271

Before I know it, I'm inside, the bell above the door announcing my entrance.

“I'll take it,” I'm telling the saleswoman, and it's as if my body is moving of its own accord. The price pops up on the screen, my card swipes, and my fingers tremble slightly as I walk out of the shop with the bag in my grasp.

Why? Why did I buy it?

“Just in case,” I murmur to myself, heading back to the restaurant with a newfound pep in my step. “Just in case...”

“You've reached Karl. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.”

I don't know why I've called him again. Maybe it's because he’s still on my mind. Maybe it's because the pearlescent white dress that's hanging on the back of my bedroom door is staring at me, reminding me of the date we had planned.

Or maybe I'm just being sentimental.

The beep sounds before I have the chance to hang up again. And I'm talking, the words spilling out of my mouth like an avalanche.

"Hey, Karl, it's Abby.” My voice is steady even though I'm screaming on the inside. “I wanted to call you..."

A pause. My fingers grip the edge of the counter so tightly my knuckles are starting to turn white. I clear my throat.

“I've got news, and I guess I wish you were here to hear it in person.” Another pause, another cleared throat. “The security taped from the cook-off came in, and Daniel was exposed. But that's not all... The judges, they've given me another chance.”

I can almost imagine his response. I'd like to think he'd be happy for me. Despite everything, in fact, I know he'd be happy for me.

“They want me to cater the Alpha party,” I continue, pressing the phone closer to my ear. “But there's a catch.”

I find myself smiling, even in my solitude. “I have to cook them a private meal first. To test my skills, I guess.” The words feel almost absurd as I speak them aloud, like it's too good to be true.

“I... I'd love it if you could be there, Karl. One last hurrah as my sous chef?” The invitation hangs in the air, met by silence, of course. “It;s not mandatory, of course. Just... I guess I'd just really like you to be there. If you want.”

There's a tension in the air, one I can't dispel with laughter or a shake of the head. The kitchen around me is eerily silent, waiting.

“And Karl,” I add, the words a little heavier, a little more difficult to push out, “I hope you're doing well. I—"

There's a hitch in my breath, and it's now that my voice begins to crack. My resolve is melting, I can feel it.

“I miss you.”

My voice is barely more than a whisper. I take a ragged breath, and then, without another word, I abruptly hang up the phone.

The phone slips from my hand onto the counter with a clatter, and I'm suddenly back in reality. Will he even listen to the voicemail? If he does, will he even care? Will he call back?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the uncertainty. This kitchen, these dishes—they need my focus. The judges are coming tomorrow, and I still haven't come up with my menu. Right now, my focus needs to be on three things, and three things only: appetizer, entree, dessert.

Not Karl. Not pearlescent dresses. Just a three-course meal.

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