Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 0280

Abby

I shuffle from one foot to the other, still shocked by Karl's sudden appearance. But the flowers in my hand are grounding, like a lifeline.

“Are you sure about this?” I find myself asking. “Your Alpha duties... You've already given up so much to help me. I don't want to jeopardize your status or anything.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Abby, I told you, it was just an event. Besides, I think you could use the help, even if you don't want to admit it.”

I suck in a breath. He's right; I do need help and I don't want to admit it, but it still feels wrong to make him be the one to help me yet again. “But if you're here, you need to be here because you want to be, not because you feel like you owe me something,” I finally say.

His smile is genuine. “I'm here because I want to be. Enough said.”

I exhale slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Okay, but I have to make this up to you somehow. I can cater an event for you, for free,” I offer, hoping it's enough to make this all worthwhile for him in one way or another.

He shakes his head, and there's a softness in his eyes that makes me pause. “Abby, that's nice of you, but you don't have to do that. I'm here as your friend. That's it.”

The word friend lodges itself in my throat. It both soothes and stings. I nod, unable to voice the gratitude and the myriad of other tangled emotions.

Together, we start to tackle the apartment, picking up scattered cookbooks, aligning shoes by the door, fluffing cushions and folding blankets.

I grab the vacuum out of the closet and get to work on the carpets. Meanwhile, Karl picks up a stack of unopened mail, a frown momentarily creasing his brow. “You haven't opened these.”

I shrug, not meeting his gaze. “Bills and junk. It's not like they're love letters.”

“Could be a check in there,” he teases, but there's a note of concern.

“It's fine, Karl. Just... stuff I didn't have the energy for.”

He nods. I can tell that there's more he wants to say, questions he wants to ask, but he's clearly chosen to let it go. And I'm grateful for that. I don't want to admit to my depression, my wallowing, my fear of setting foot into my own kitchen.

We work for a while longer, eventually moving to the more tedious task: cleaning the kitchen.

“You know,” Karl starts, breaking our comfortable silence as he wipes down the counter, “I always thought you had a nice place here.”

I laugh, feeling a bit surprised. “You really thought that? You sure you're not just pitying me for not living in your mansion with you anymore?”

He chuckles, throwing the paper towel into the trash. “I don't pity you. It's cozy in here. If anything, I pity myself, living in that sprawling mansion all alone.”

That sprawling mansion. It was once my home. Our home. I do miss it sometimes, no matter how much I like it here. But I won't admit it, not now, at least. “Thanks,” I say, managing a smile. “That means a lot.”

The conversation lulls as we continue, and soon, the apartment is about as presentable as it'll get. We pause for a moment and look at our handiwork, at the tidy living room, the spotless kitchen, the perfectly-set table with the white tulips as the new centerpiece.

But I can't spend long admiring. The judges will be here soon, and my pulse quickens at the thought. “I should probably shower and get dressed,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

“Yeah,” Karl agrees, “but you've done good here, Abby. The place looks great. Really.”

I glance around, the apartment now a far cry from the disarray he walked into. “Thanks. It's... better. Thank you for helping.”

He nods. “Of course. I said I would, wouldn't 1?

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