Chasing His Kickass Luna Back
Chapter 0282

Abby

I swallow hard, my palm slick with nervous sweat as I reach for the door handle.

“Ready?” Karl asks, his voice low. His eyes meet mine, and I can feel a sense of calm wash over me, although it's not quite enough to allay the anxiety that's blooming in my chest.

“Ready.”

The door swings open and the evening light spills into the hallway, carrying with it the judges. Vanessa, with her air of understated elegance; Xavier, with his calm and quiet demeanor; and then there's Logan.

Logan. His gaze scans over me, and suddenly I feel like I'm back on stage again beneath his heavy scrutiny. How does he feel about this second chance that Vanessa pushed for? Did he fight it? Will he scrutinize me again? Humiliate me again?

But then, Logan's eyes slide over to Karl. There's a flicker of something between them, and it reminds me of the supposed conversation they had. What more was said between the two of them that I don't know about?

Either way, it doesn’t matter—because I have more on my plate tonight than a few critiques from a single judge.

"Good evening,” I say with an almost robotic smile, stepping aside, hoping that they can't hear my heart thumping in my chest.

Vanessa sweeps in, her perfume washing over me as she walks past. It's oddly calming, but as she looks around, I can't help but wonder what she'll think about my place.

“I'm so sorry for the switch-up,” I stammer. “My restaurant—"

“No worries,” Vanessa says with a warm smile. “This will do just fine. You have a lovely home.”

A surprised warmth flushes through me, easing the tightness in my shoulders. “Thank you. I'm glad you think so.”

Logan's gaze prowls the space, analytical and cold. He gives a curt nod and not a word more. Xavier smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, but he remains silent, following Vanessa's lead.

Karl's presence at my back is strangely comforting. We guide them to the kitchen where everything is laid out on the sparkling countertops, like a stage set for a big performance. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and citrus.

“You remember... Ken," I introduce him, using his same pseudonym from the cook-off. He's not wearing his blue surgical mask tonight since he’s not on television, but I can tell from the glance he gives me that he's grateful for the anonymity. “He will be my sous chef again tonight.”

Logan steps forward, his hands clasped behind him. “We were under the impression, Abby, that this meal was to be prepared by you... without assistance.”

I feel the blood drain from my face, eyes darting to Karl, whose gaze is steady. There's a silent exchange between us, and for a moment, I feel like I might crumble; but the look in his eyes bolsters me. I nod, looking back at the judges. “Of course. That's not a problem.”

The room falls silent for a moment before Vanessa's soothing voice fills the void. “We're looking forward to the meal you'll be preparing for us tonight, Abby," she says, glancing around the kitchen, taking everything in. “Now, for the stipulations...”

Without further ado, the judges go on to explain my expectations for tonight. They will be observing me as I cook, and I'll be expected to explain my process throughout. That should be easy; a whole hell of a lot easier than being on camera, at least.

I nod when they're finished. I can do this.

Just before I begin, Karl's hand brushes mine. It's a momentary touch, but it's grounding when I need it the most. He gives me a glance, his eyes speaking volumes.

He knows I can do this. I know I can do this.

There's no Daniel, no sabotage, no audience—just me and my skills.

“Tonight, I'm starting with a roasted carrot and ginger soup,” I announce, glancing up at the judges as I begin to work on the carrots I've prepared.

Vanessa's gaze is encouraging, a slight smile on her lips. “I love the sound of that, Abby. Tell us, what inspired this choice?”

I begin peeling the carrots, each strip falling into a neat pile on the cutting board. “With autumn on the way, I wanted to prepare something cozy and comforting,” I explain, and the words come more easily than I expected. “I always love roasted carrot and ginger soup on a cold, rainy day.”

Logan's pen pauses on his notepad, his eyes meeting mine. “And what's your process for bringing out the flavors in your dish?”

I reach for the ginger, its skin rough beneath my fingers. “The key is in the roasting. If done correctly, it can boost the spice of the ginger and bring out the natural sweetness of the carrots.” Xavier leans in, his interest clearly piqued. “Roasting, you say? How do you ensure you don't lose the essence of the ginger?”

“It's all in the timing,” I reply, slicing the ginger with care. “Adding it just when the carrots start to caramelize. This gives the heat just enough time to coax the flavors our without overcooking it." With the vegetables prepared, I glance at the pot heating on the stove. “I'm using homemade vegetable stock as a base.”

The judges nod, scribbling notes on their notepads, as I pour the stock into the pot. I then add the carrots and ginger, and soon the kitchen smells like a cozy autumn day.

Vanessa tilts her head. “I detect something else in there. Is that thyme?”

I smile. “Yes, just a touch.”

As the soup simmers, I move on to the garnish. “Each bow! will be topped with a dollop of sour cream and green onions,” I explain.

Logan looks up, his eyes skeptical. “And what makes you think that the green onions would pair well with the other flavors?”

I swallow, shooting Karl an almost imperceptible glance as he stands behind the judges, leaning against the doorframe. He nods ever so slightly, and that gesture alone gives me enough confidence to answer Logan's question.

“I'll let you experience it for yourself in just a few moments.”

Logan opens his mouth to retort, but Vanessa stops him. “I think Abby might be onto something. Just wait, Logan.” He says nothing more, but I can see the glint of annoyance in his eyes.

Next, I blend the soup until it's silky smooth, the perfect texture. “Blending hot liquids requires care,” I say. “A towel over the lid, to prevent any accidents.”

The judges watch, wordlessly, as I ladle the smooth soup into wooden bowls, the color rich and inviting. I add the sour cream next, which swirls into the soup in soft white streaks, and then sprinkle the green onions on top.

My breath hitches as I look down at the bowls.

It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.

With each bowl complete, I carry them to the table, my hands steady despite the flutter in my stomach.

“This is it, the first course. Roasted carrot and ginger soup with sour cream and green onions,” I announce, setting the bowls in front of each judge.

I step back, my heart a rapid drum in my chest. The room is quiet, save for the gentle scraping of spoons against the wooden bowls. I watch their faces, searching for a sign, a tell, anything.

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