Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 0275

Abby

My hand trembles slightly as I dial Mr. Thompson's number, each ring sounding like a warning siren against my ear. The kitchen is still flooded, and the chaos is like a perfect mirror image of my inner turmoil right now.

“Mr. Thomson,” I breath, my voice shaking, as the line clicks to life.

"Abby?" his voice crackles through, instantly picking up on my tone. “Is everything okay?”

The words spill out in a rush. “The restaurant—a pipe burst, the kitchen is flooded, and the power went out. I need to inform the judges that I can’t do this today.”

"Abby, you can't cancel now,” he cuts in sharply. “Today was chosen by the judges very deliberately. If you cancel, then they might go for another contestant instead.”

A knot forms in my stomach as my mind scrambles to come up with a solution. “Okay, I won't cancel, but I can't do it here. I need to... I need to move the venue—to my house.”

There's a pause before he answers. “Your house? Abby, this is highly unorthodox. Rescheduling could look bad, but changing the venue so drastically, and an unprofessional setting no less... Are you sure?”

“I don't have another choice, do I?” I insist, my voice a mix of determination and desperation. “It will be professional. Trust me, it will be an experience they won't forget. I'll make sure of it.”

He sighs, and I can hear the sound of something like papers shuffling on the other end. “I can convey this to them, but I can't guarantee—"

“Just tell them,” I interrupt, my voice pleading. “Please.”

The call ends with a promise that he'll try. That's all any of us can do, isn't it?

I pace the floor of my kitchen as I wait, the chaos of the burst pipe reflecting the turmoil in my mind. I'm playing a dangerous game, changing the venue last minute, and I haven't even heard back from Mr. Thompson yet.

"Abby, plumber’s here,” John calls out, snapping me back to the present crisis.

“Good,” I mutter, forcing a calm over myself that I don't feel in the slightest.

The plumber is already knee-deep in the mess, his face serious as he examines the disaster. “Huh,” he says, shining his flashlight up into the burst pipe. “That's strange.”

"What's strange?” I ask, feeling my breath hitch.

"You've got a huge blockage,” he says as his hands work with a long plastic snake to dislodge it. “Looks like... paper towels. And cardboard?”

My heart drops into my stomach. “Cardboard?” I echo, dumbfounded.

“Yup,” he grunts, pulling out a sodden, grotesque mass. It's a monstrous wad of paper towels, mixed together with pieces of what looks unmistakably like cardboard.

My staff clusters around, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. I catch their eyes, one by one, searching for a flicker of guilt, a shadow of deceit.

“Has anyone been shoving stuff down the sink?” I ask, although I know my team and would trust them not to do something like this. They wouldn't be so reckless, so foolish.

“No way, Abby,” Anton says, and there's a chorus of denials and shaking of heads.

“I'm sorry,” I say, passing my hand over my weary face. “I know you guys wouldn't do this. It's just...” My voice trails off. I don't even know what to say.

The plumber clears his throat and draws my attention back. “Oh, and there's another thing,” he starts, and I can tell from his tone that I'm not going to like it in the slightest. “The water shouldnt have killed the power the way it did. You might wanna call an electrician.”

I rub a hand over my face, feeling the exhaustion already beginning to settle in. “Tomorrow, then,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “We'll handle it tomorrow. Let's keep the restaurant closed for now.”

John's hand lands on my shoulder, his figure looming in the dim light of the lanterns we've set up. "We'll get through this, Abby,” he assures me.

I nod, thankful for the strength in his voice. But there's a thought worming its way through my mind, insidious and dark. Sabotage.

Someone knows about my second chance. Someone's trying to snuff it out before it has a chance to breathe.

And maybe that someone just so happens to be the same someone that started a fire in my apartment.

As the plumber finishes up his work, we return to our own work: scrubbing, drying, and throwing away precious ingredients that got soaked in the mess. My wallet hurts just thinking about the expense this will all be, but that's not the most important thing on my mind.

Then, finally, my phone rings. I pick it up on the first ring, my breath hitched.

“Mr. Thompson?”

“Abby,” Mr. Thompson's voice crackles through. “They've agreed to come to your house.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. “Oh, thank god. Really?”

"Yes, but...” He hesitates. “Make it count, Abby. This is a significant deviation from what was expected of you. They'll be even more vigilant when it comes to professionalism and cleanliness.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Don’t worry. Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

The line goes dead, and a surge of adrenaline kicks in. “They agreed,” I announce to the room. “I need to get ready.”

John wipes his hands on a towel, his concern palpable even in the dim light of the lanterns. “Are you sure we can't do anything to help, Abby?”

I shake my head, firm in my resolution. “Just keep the ship afloat here. Make sure nothing else crazy happens, alright?”

Anton leans on the mop he's been using, his gaze settling on me with a sternness that surprises me, given how jovial he really is. “So, the judges will be visiting Miss Abby's home kitchen,” he says. “Are you sure that will be okay?”

I shrug, not wanting to internalize Anton's comment but also realizing that he might just be right. “I don't have much of a choice, do 1?” 1 ask. “It's either this or nothing. I'd rather choose this.”

John and Anton nod almost simultaneously. The three of us stand there for a moment before John speaks again.

"At least let me or Anton come with you,” he says. “You can't cook on your own.”

I meet his gaze, already having made up my mind. “I have to.”

“But a sous chef—" Anton begins, only to be cut off by my raised hand.

“I can handle it. I need you here, making sure this place doesn't fall apart completely.”

They exchange looks, their gazes speaking volumes. But then, finally, they nod silently. I think they can both tell that I've made up my mind and theres no changing it now.

And in a strange way, I think part of me wants to do this alone. No sous chef. No man to do everything for me, just as Daniel once accused me of. Just me, Abby, against all odds, sabotage or no sabotage. I'm not sure if it was a conscious decision at first, but it certainly is now.

Then, Anton glances at his watch and his eyes widen.

“Merde,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Run, woman! It's almost time!”

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